The Red Prince- Book 2 of the Warriors' Trilogy
by Free Thought
Summary: A lone mouse jumps off a trade ship into the shallows and wades to the shore; a sword and piece of tapestry his only possessions. Hopefully here he could hide where no prophesy could find him. In his sacrifice, they would all be safe. Originally entitled "Elderstar," this work has been rewritten. Pre-Redwall epic about Martin the Elder Warrior. Book 2 of The Warriors' Trilogy.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: For all of those a little puzzled, hopefully this will clear up the confusion. ****Elderstar ****has been rewritten as ****The Red Prince.**** Sorry to all of those reading that story, but I did not like how I had written so this was warranted. You will notice a lot of it is the same as it is only a rewrite/revision and the basic story will stay the same, but hopefully much more enjoyable.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any Redwall characters/places, etc. Those belong to Brian Jacques.**

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**Prologue**

The brisk northern wind whipped across the barren rock cliffs, flattening the sparse patches of sea grass and lifting the sands in twisting spires along the shoreline. Though there was not a cloud in the sky, no heat could be felt in the sun's rays as it started to dip towards the western sea. All around the autumn chill of the northern coast echoed in each roll of the ocean's waves, bringing the new season closer with each whitecap.

The desolate land had very little to offer a creature at first impression save a crude shelter in a series of caves pricked out in a small cluster along the coastline. It would take a hardy group of beasts to settle there. Brave too, as there was no protection against the dangers which lurked on the seas or the threats that could surprise them from the lands above the cliffs. So hardy and brave a creature would still find the space barely liveable- no, it would take more than just courage and strong will to keep them at the shores of the northern coast. The creatures would have to be desperate; desperate to live. Desperate to survive. Desperate to hide.

The winds from the north blew down again, pushing the sands over the pawprints from the previous day when a group of raggedy mice ventured up the coast line and one thrust his sword into the soft sands and declared this place "Home."

But despite their arrival, the shores were still empty; the only sign they had stayed was the odd cry that rang out from one of the caves and the sight of a single mouse pacing in the entrance of the largest cavern.

"Come on, Luke!" a mouse named Vurg yelled from his rock-seat at the makeshift table they had devised from a short flat-topped boulder and a wide piece of driftwood. Vurg watched his oldest friend nervously paced back and forth at the mouth of the cave. "Sit down and have a drink!"

"He's right, Luke," another called Cardo laughed and filled a dented tin cup with some drinking water. "This should be some ale, but given the circumstances you'll have to pretend!"

"I can't sit still," Luke sighed as another yell sounded and he looked up in the direction of the neighbouring cave where his wife Sayna was in labour. It was their first child and that morning Luke awoke to her beside him on the cave floor, clutching her belly under a blanket in obvious pain, but not wanting to make a sound to wake him. She knew he was exhausted and needed his sleep. Luke smiled. She had the kindest heart and was always thinking of others.

"Easy now, Luke," Vurg reassured him and got up to go to his now rigidly standing friend. "She'll be fine. Stop pacing and sit still. Sayna's a strong mouse."

"And Windred with her," Cardo piped up. "And the other females. They'll make sure it all turns out right."

"What's happening to Sayna?" a young mouse named Timballisto said quietly as he sat along the wall of the cave, completely puzzled at Luke's anxiety. For as long as the young mouse had been in his company, Luke was never anxious or scared. He had never so much as seen the brave mouse worried.

"Well, young one," Denno said crossing the cave and throwing an arm around Timballisto as he sat beside him. "Sayna's having her mouseling and Luke is just worried that she will be alright."

"Why won't she be alright?" Timballisto asked innocently.

"Well…"

"That's enough Denno," Luke said sternly as another cry sounded. "He's too young."

The males' took up their bantering again, however it was short lived when a mousewife appeared at the mouth of the cave with wide eyes. Luke stretched up straighter, holding his breath in anticipation of an announcement, but instead of a smile and clapping paws, he looked into a pair of stressed eyes.

"Luke, we need more drinking water," the mousemaid said quickly. Turning her attention to the rest of the group she added, "Can one of you boil more water…"

"More?" Cardo laughed from his seat as Denno went to the fire pit and added more wood to the small blaze. "That's all we've done!"

The mousewife just shook her head and took the pitcher of drinking water Vurg had brought forward from the table. Luke eyed her wearily and she swiftly shifted her gaze away from his. Something was wrong.

"Melita," Luke started and waited until she looked up at him. "Melita, why is this taking so long?"

"It's her first," the mousewife scoffed, trying to make light of the fact Sayna had been in labour all day. "The first babes always take the longest."

Another scream sounded and the mousewife cringed, causing Luke to sigh and turn on his heel to go to the back of the cave, his face in his paws as he struggled to calm himself.

"Melita, what's happening?" Vurg whispered urgently to the mousewife. "There's something you're not telling us."

"The mouseling is large, Vurg," she said quietly. "And Sayna is exhausted from the traveling. She's have a very hard time."

"Is everything going to be alright?" the mouse questioned and glanced back at Luke.

"Hopefully," Melita replied and slipped out of the cave, calling over her shoulder as she went, "Bring the water once it's boiled!"

Vurg exhaled loudly and walked to where Luke was now seated on the floor with Timballisto.

"Can I see your sword again, Luke?" the young mouse asked, looking at the large battle blade strapped to Luke's back.

"Sure you can, Timbal," Luke smiled at him and unsheathed the blade. Laying it out flat in both his paws, Luke admired the balance of the blade.

It was old and had seen countless battles, but it was well made and strong. It had been his father's sword and was given to the Luke before his first test in battle. He could still recall the pride in his father's eyes as he handed Luke the sword and the great sense of honour he had felt strapping such a blade onto his belt. It had been a cherished memory for Luke and he smiled to think that if Sayna had a male, Luke would one day pass this sword on to him.

"It's a big sword," Timbal said. "Is it going to be your son's someday?"

"Someday," Luke said wistfully. "My father gave it to me and I will pass it on to my son when the time is right. It has always been in our family. It has always kept the bearer safe."

"But what if you have a daughter?" Timballisto questioned and traced the hilt with the tip of his finger.

"Then I'll have to keep it and defend her against tail-chasers like you!" Luke chuckled and gave the young mouse's shoulder a little nudge. Timballisto only giggled and gave Luke a shove back in play.

"Well, it can't possibly be long now!" Cardo said, stating the obvious. "Should we place wagers on what Luke's sired?"

"As long as it's a healthy mouseling, what does it matter?" Luke muttered and rested his head against the wall. He hoped Cardo was right and it was over with soon. He couldn't take the stress of waiting much longer.

"Luke's right," Vurg asserted and reached over to give his friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Whatever comes out of Sayna's belly will make him a father either way."

"A father," Luke mused at his soon-to-be title and sighed pensively, "I wish my father was here to see the birth of his grandchild."

"Yes, just think about what the old battle axe would be doing right now!" Vurg laughed and walked back to his seat, taking the opportunity to generate some much needed relief from the tension of the situation. "He'd have given you a good swat on the head with that big walking stick of his and tell you to stop your worrying Luke!"

"Yep," Denno nodded. "Probably knock Luke out flat too…"

"He'd be grumbling at us all," Luke snickered with a smile curling his lips. "Until the babe is born; then he'd turn soft as pudding."

"_Your father_? Soft as pudding?" Vurg laughed. "Luke, did you hit your own head with a stick?"

Luke smiled silently as he fondly recalled his father. Martin the Warrior, Commander of the Southern Armies, son of… well, Luke didn't know for sure. All he knew was the last beast to wield his sword before his father was also called Martin, so presumably Luke's grandsire. But regardless of everything, to Luke his father was the greatest beast in the world. The others would have only seen him as a leader and commander of armies, but Luke got to see more than that.

Sure, his father was brave and stern, but kind and always thinking about others above himself. Luke remembered all of the times when he was scared and his father had been there to comfort him and chase all his fears away. He always felt safe when his father was near; he knew that he could handle anything.

He had always fought for others and rarely a second thought to himself. He was always true to his word. Always.

_Even in our secrets_, Luke thought to himself. _Even to our secrets we must always keep our word._

"Luke?" Vurg asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend's silence.

"No, I didn't hit my head Vurg," Luke said, chuckling in his response and went to stand at the mouth of the cave again where he could be alone. Sliding down the rocks he sat overlooking the sea as the sun was starting to set in the horizon; setting the sea aglow with various shades of pinks and purples.

"Where ever you are Father," Luke whispered to the sea as his friends conversed behind him. "I hope honoured your secret and found her again. I hope after all you've done you are finally happy."

Luke watched as the waves started to change colour as the sun dipped lower into the sea, taking on a golden hue. Oddly, the rays that settled on Luke's face and he could feel warmth in their light. The winds shifted, blowing a soft breeze from the south with the smells of spices and oranges peppering the air. With a smile, Luke closed his eyes and let his senses drift into his memories when he had before watched that warming gold colour sail towards him.


	2. Fatherly Ambitions

**Special thanks to Shadowed One for the review.**

**Also, you will notice with this chapter the revisions and rewrites really starting to kick in as I take some more time to explain Eutrusia's feudal make-up and a significant event in their history that before I more or less skimmed over. **

**And... just for all of those not reading this story for a "second" time, the Martin we meet in this chapter is not the one our story is about, but rather a** **predecessor.**

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**Chapter 1- Fatherly Ambitions**

Far out into the southern reaches of the Western Sea, where the waters meet the sky, lay the mariner Kingdom of Eutrusia. It was a vast island, strong and proud of its heritage, with diverse regions and landscapes covering the mass of land. It was a prosperous kingdom, rich in resources such as gold, fertile soils and bountiful seas. The island was littered with pockets of civilization and had large castles and regal palaces which housed the kingdom's nobility. The grandest of all these was Vasilis, the lavish palace of Eutrusia's royal family, which stood on the top of a large outcrop overlooking the sea in the southern capital of Aurelius. From the sea, the towered citadel looked like a crown atop the affluent city when the southern sun turned the marbled walls a golden hue.

The morning sun was shining brightly through the lead windows of the palace, warming the flagstones and lighting the corridors and chambers. A regally clad mouse strode down the wide hallway from the royal chambers in the western wing, a small entourage of scribes and pages walking a respectful pace behind him. Every beast they passed bowed or curtsied to the grand mouse and he in turn gave them each a brief nod of his crowned head in acknowledgement of their fealty.

Descending the stairs to the next level, the mouse snickered to see a young mouse of fifteen seasons standing dutifully in front of his chamber doors, himself also richly dressed and his servants standing quietly behind him. On his head he wore a simple rose-gold coronet signifying his station as Etifedd of Eutrusia, heir to the very crown his father now wore on his head.

"Ah, Matthias!" the king said loudly as they neared the prince. "Able to tear yourself away from your studies for a council meeting, were you?"

"I was told this was one I should attend, Lord Father," Matthias replied formally and gave his father a slight bow due to his king and father. "After all, it is not every day I am betrothed."

"No, it's not," the king chuckled and motioned for his son to walk with him. "Interested to see who you get for a queen, are you?"

"I need to see how these things are done," the prince replied firmly. "As you have already married off my sisters, this will be the only time I can view a royal proceeding such as this and I need to know the dealings of it in the event I must betroth my own son."

"Wisely put, Matthias," his father smirked and held in a laugh. His son was always very diplomatic in his addresses, a true Eutrusian prince to the core. Even at a young age Matthias had repeatedly displayed proper discretion and tact in all stately matters by passing thoughtful rulings and just judgements, and his father could see his son's heart still could not sway his mind despite the tender situation which lay before them. But then Matthias was never one to let his heart rule his mind.

"Your Majesty!" a portly hedgehog gasped and gave a hurried bow. "King Matteus… and Your Highness, Prince Matthias- I beg pardon, but this missive has come from the prophets…"

Without waiting for the messenger to finish, the king snatched the scroll from the pewter tray and broke the seal to read the parchment. Matthias inquisitively watched his father scan the missive. His movements had been quick, too quick for something to be unexpected. No, his father had been waiting for this seeing and Matthias could only assume it was about his impending betrothal.

"Ah- I thought so," King Matteus mused, a sly smile curling his lips as he stuffed the parchment into his richly embroidered green overrobe and waved the messenger off with a flick of his wrist. Without another word, the king continued their advance down the corridor towards the palace's Grand Gallery where the nobility of Eutrusia was gathering to bear witness to the betrothal of their Etifedd.

"Lord Father," Matthias asked quietly as they descended another flight of stairs and turned round a corner. "The missive from the prophets…"

"Only confirmed my decision on your future queen," the king said shortly. "It only confirmed my choice was the proper one."

"So you've already picked one," Matthias stated with a hint of annoyance. "Lord Father, you have not yet heard the other lords' proposals to make such a judgement."

"I do not need to hear them," Matteus snorted haughtily. "I am their king and overlord and you are my son. Whatever maid I choose will be Eutrusia's next queen.

"You will be _silent_ in all matters," King Matteus instructed his son sternly as the high doors of the Gallery were within sight. "Not one protest, Matthias. Is that clear?"

"It's my future wife," Matthias countered boldly. "Shouldn't I have a say in which maid you have already chosen?"

"No!" the king laughed and then stopped their walk to turn a serious face to his son. "Matthias, do you understand what is about to happen?"

"No," the prince replied and eyed his father suspiciously. He could tell by the look in his eye that he was up to something; in his mind the king was weaving a grand web of politics and prosperity. Matthias knew his father was a cunning mouse and lived up to his whispered nickname as 'the spider' with all the nets he used to rope beasts to his will. Though he was a just and fair king, he was one each noble watched closely. Many a beast had been raised high during the reign of King Matteus, but also plenty of good creatures had been cast down or shunned at court when they had found themselves unlucky enough to fall into the king's snares.

"Son, we are at an apex of a battlefield," Matteus instructed the prince. "Inside that Grand Gallery is a horde of lords that each have a daughter or granddaughter of age for a betrothal and unfortunately for all of them, I have only one Etifedd. Naturally, to choose one maiden out of the lot will cause all the fathers of those cast aside maidens to throw their heads back and howl."

"So how did you choose?" Matthias questioned, desperate for knowledge. "How did you decide which maid would bring with her the less protest?"

"I didn't," Matteus said with a wink. "I've decided on a maid that will bring Eutrusia closer, make her stronger. Matthias, your future wife will bring a gift to our family greater than beauty or alliances could. She will bring with her courage and honour, and the love of the creatures. But above all she will endow our family with the beginnings of a legend."

Matthias sighed and nodded to his father. King Matteus still had not answered the prince's question, but his son would have to be content with the answer he was given. Besides, his father's mind was more than made up, so what did it matter if he was informed now or in council.

"Don't worry, son!" Matteus laughed loudly and clapped Matthias hard on the shoulder. "She's a pretty maid. You're not going to want to blow out the candles on your wedding night!"

"Father," Matthias groaned slowly and blushed to a deep scarlet.

"Now, Matthias don't be embarrassed!" Matteus chuckled and motioned them forward again with the tip of his head. "It'll be three seasons before you need to worry about putting a mouseling in her belly."

"Maybe if you would tell me who it is, I would be smiling instead of blushing," the prince mumbled under his breath.

"What was that, my son?"

"Nothing, Lord Father."

At their approach, the footbeasts clasped the handles of the tall oaken doors, throwing them open as the herald announced the royals' entry into the grand Gallery of Palace Vasilis.

"His Majesty, King Matteus of Eutrusia and His Highness, Prince Matthias Etifedd!"

All creatures present immediately sprang to attention, all taking a step backwards and bowing as the king and crowned prince made their way through the crowd and forward towards Council Chambers off the eastern side of the Gallery. Waves of addresses were spoken as they passed and the four states' barons fell into line behind them as well as a contingent of chancellors, appointed advisors and royal administrators.

Once inside the Council Chambers, King Matteus motioned to for his members of council to take a seat around the large slate table in the center of the room which depicted an intricate map of Eutrusia carved into the tabletop.

"My Lords!" King Matteus said cheerfully as he settled himself into his seat of honour. "What say you on this fair day?"

"You find us well, Your Majesty," Baron Milan replied with a smile and a nod to the prince. "And most excited to be discussing the future of our Etifedd."

Matteus chuckled at the graces of the northern squirrel baron. He knew Milan was pressing for a northern match to help bring peace to the difficult state in his own selfish hopes that he might be able to return to his estate without protest from the northerners. Needless to say, the only maid of consequence from there that could be considered was Syr Garrion's third daughter, Lady Faline, and though rumoured to be a prettyish sort of maiden, her elder sisters had proved fruitless in their marriages. The baron must think him a daft mouse indeed to saddle his son, and his kingdom with a match with potential sterility.

"I am glad to hear it," the king replied formally and gestured for the servants to serve the lords their wine. "My Lords, I hope you do not object, but to make this task less tiresome, I have asked Lord Tatium to prepare a list of eligible maidens so we may just run through them quickly."

At his cue, Lord Tatium stood from his chair and placed the long sheet of parchment before the king.

"Good Seasons Lord Tatium- did you all but measure their hips!" Matteus jested with the vole chancellor and turned the parchment slightly so Matthias could see the list.

"I categorized them as Your Majesty asked of me," the vole replied and pushed his spectacles up on his snout. "Name, age, family, estates, average number of offspring generated from their mothers of the last three generations…"

"Six for the Lady Ulyssa," King Matteus clucked and gave Baron Neron of Eurus, the most powerful of Eutrusian lords, a nod one would have thought was in kind. "She has an impressive forecasted ability in reproduction, Baron Neron."

"Ulyssa comes from a fertile line, Your Majesty," Neron smirked and didn't try to hide his pride. "My daughter would serve her country well between the sheets."

"And you think she could give my son six children?" Matteus smiled slyly and leaned back on his chair to eye the council beasts.

"I do," Neron replied quickly, his pride making him blind to the snare of the spider. "All Etifedds I wager."

Matthias watched in silence as his father continued to discuss the maids with his barons and chancellors. He knew he must let them have their say and feel as though he was taking their thoughts into consideration, but the prince was only holding onto his reserve by the barest of margins. He wanted to know who his future bride was as much as his father wanted to keep string the nobles along his web.

"And what else?" Matteus pressed and eyed all of his barons before settling his gaze on Neron directly. "Any of these maids can squeeze out a babe and it is immaterial if she has one mouseling or twenty. Only one can be crowned an Etifedd. Only one can be a future king. What else will a maid such as Lady Ulyssa bring to my royal household?"

"I am not sure what you mean, Your Majesty," the baron said in guarded tones. "She brings beauty, kindness and ability to breed…"

"Lips, tips and hips," Matteus said rolling his eyes. "But what else?"

"Lady Relinn from Grossen is said to have a pleasant singing voice," Baron Edwen piped up thinking that he knew what the king was getting at.

"Yes, and the only reason why I won't think her a mole is that I know she is your granddaughter, Edwen," Matteus replied absentmindedly as he pretended to read the parchment again. "What about the maid Valina?"

"Valina?" Lord Tatium said scrunching up his nose as he tried to think of a mousemaid by that name. "To which lady-maid do you refer to, Your Majesty?"

"Maid Valina," Matteus said again. "Captain Martin and Dame Branlin's daughter."

A thunderous hush collapsed on the room, the tension pressing against the walls at the king's statement.

"_Captain Martin's daughter_?" Baron Crar repeated and raised an eyebrow. "She's well…"

"She is a commoner," Matthias blurted out despite the glare he received from his father. "Valina is just the daughter of an army commander."

"His Highness is correct, Your Majesty," Baron Neron said quickly. "Captain's Martin's daughter would never be included on a list with…"

"There," Matteus said plainly, tossing aside the quill he had picked up to write a name on the parchment. "Now, she's on the list."

Matthias just stared at his father. What was he doing?

"Your Majesty, your son must wed a maid of noble birth…" Baron Milan started cautiously, but halted his statement at the challenging gaze of the king. "I mean, Captain Martin is not even at court to receive your proposal…"

"Martin is the Captain of the Royal Guard and his family has held the title since its inception in the founding days," the king said defensively. "Countless times he has proven his quality worthy of any lord protecting our hides from danger.

"Send for him," Matteus said quickly to the page, pushing away the parchment away and motioning for his personal scribes to set down a large roll of papyrus prepared for the official betrothal signings. Matthias gaped at the fact the document had already been drafted with Valina's name and meagre lineage inked onto the sheet. His father hadn't been joking when he said he had made his decision. The prince sighed deeply. Whatever web the spider had weaved, he was now firmly caught in the center of it.

* * *

Martin walked quickly under the portcullis of Vasilis' southern gate, his red cape billowing behind him as he strode past the sentries. He wasn't formally garbed for a council meeting, being clad in a simple tunic, but the messenger had said his presence was required immediately and so he had only taken the time to fix his great sword to his belt before leaving his home and making for palace. He had instructed the healers to send an envoy should his wife's condition worsen. He didn't care what the meeting was for; he would be by her side at the end.

He continued to walk across the courtyard, being greeted by each beast with a nod and respectful, 'Captain,' before bounding up the stairs and into the crowded Gallery of the palace. Making his way through the melee of nobles, Martin was able to cross the hall with little interruption across to the Council Chamber pausing only for a brief moment for the herald to announce his attendance before the doors were thrown open and he entered the room.

"Ah, Martin!" King Matteus called out from the table. "You were quicker than I expected! Come and join us for our discussion."

The mouse captain visibly sighed and walked towards the gathered nobles. This did not look like a war council or anything to do with the protection of Eutrusia, so why was he there? Taking up his usual seat adjacent to the king, Martin slumped in his chair and drew his long sword, laying it traditionally on the table before putting his face in his paws and taking deep breaths.

"And what are we discussing today, Your Majesty," Martin sighed heavily trying to sound as normal as he could. All he could think about was his wife's pale face and shallow breaths as he left her holding their daughter's paws. He just wanted the meeting over with so he could return to her side.

"His Majesty is going to decide on a wife for his son," Baron Neron said coldly and nodded to where Prince Matthias sat at the table. "Matthias Etifedd is of age to be betrothed."

"This is what I was called away for?" Martin chuckled in disbelief, looking up at the ceiling to find strength. "This is why I was summoned anyway from my dying wife?"

The mouse pushed himself up quickly, letting the chair fall back on the marble floor. Eyeing each of them angrily, he looked strongly into the eyes of the king.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I hardly see how a betrothal decision bears the need for your Captain of the Guard."

"You dare to question His Majesty's summon?" a Baron Edwen gasped, turning to the regal mouse he shook his head. "My Lord, King Matteus do not let him undermine your rule!"

The regal mouse simply shook his head at the baron. Could he not see the pain in the brave mouse's eyes?

"Leave us," Matteus said plainly looking at all his council and nodding to his son seated beside him. "You as well, Matthias. I want a private word with my Captain."

Matteus watched slowly as the gathering filed out of the chamber before turning his attention to the worried mouse now pacing in front of the windows looking out over the sea.

"Martin," Matteus called quietly. When the mouse didn't answer, the king sighed and shook his head, rising from his chair and going to his oldest friend. Standing beside him, Matteus put a reassuring paw on Martin's strong shoulder. "How is Branlin doing?"

"She's dying, Matteus," Martin said softly, throwing formality to the wind now that the two friends were alone. "No matter what the healers do, she isn't getting better… she is so weak."

Collecting himself, he took a deep breath before he continued.

"They believe the babe has died in her," he whispered. "Her body's not rejecting it yet… it's rotting in her and poisoning her."

"There's nothing they can do?"

"No," Martin breathed as he watched the ships sailing about the bay below them. "One had the idea to cut it out, but the pain and the wound would be fatal… I couldn't let them do that to her, I…"

"It's alright, Martin," Matteus tried to soothe him as the mouse broke away from his paw and began pacing again.

"It's not alright!" Martin said angrily. "It is my fault! I wanted another babe. I was the one who had to have a son!

"Why was I not happy enough with Valina?" Martin berated himself. "Carrying Valina was hard enough for Branlin, why couldn't I see that she shouldn't carry another? Why was I not happy enough with a healthy daughter?"

"You can't blame yourself for this, Martin," Matteus said sternly. "You needed to have a son. You needed to pass along your station to your heir. It is our tradition…"

"Oh hang tradition, Matteus!" Martin countered. "Tradition isn't worth death!"

"You needed to pass along your gift, Martin," Matteus continued, unoffended by his friend's outburst. "The gift of your family must be passed on."

"Yes, and some gift it is too," Martin said coldly and eyed his sword with bitter contempt. "I am supposed to keep creatures safe and I cannot even save my own wife!"

"This is not battle Martin. There is no enemy. It is the Fates taking what they deem as theirs."

The mouse huffed and continued to pace the room.

"Matteus, why am I here?" Martin said plainly as he turned back to the king with his paws wide. "Why did you call me away from my wife's side? What is so dangerous in Matthias' betrothal that needs the presence of the Captain of the Guard?"

"I didn't summon you as the Captain of the Guard, Martin," Matteus chuckled and walked back down to the table to take a seat in his chair. "I summoned you to the council as a father."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Valina's name was one put forward as a possible match for Matthias," Matteus smiled at his friend and held up a piece of parchment displaying a long list of names. "And let's just say I think it will be a great match."

"But she's not nobility," Martin gaped. "She can't possibly be mentioned."

"She is as pretty a maid as the others," the king scoffed and waved off the comment. "And her constant presence in the palace as a pawmaid to Queen Sibylla has taught her the ways of how we do things here. As your daughter, she is greatly loved by all the creatures…"

"We aren't noble, Matteus," Martin pressed. "Remove my title and I am but a common soldier…"

"You may not be noble, but you bear a great name Martin," Matteus winked. "Your family bears a great gift, as does mine.

"Just think of the possibility Martin," Matteus continued tapping Martin's sword blade as he rose. "From your line Badger Lord blood flows in your veins; bloodwrath, a gift from the Seasons. But the Seasons also blessed my line in the dawning days with a gift that we could never be killed by a vermin blade. We are a protected line."

Matteus could see the wheels turning in Martin's mind at the hard expression on his face.

"If Matthias and Valina were to wed, any of their progeny would be double blessed," Matteus pressed. "Imagine if they have a son? Think of the security of Eutrusia would have then? We could finally win peace over the whole country, bring peace to the seas; there would be no more need for war. They would have a great son, virtually undefeatable, one the bards will sing of in the ages to come!"

"Will that not tempt the Fates," Martin whispered. "Will it not anger them that we have created a race so hallowed by Seasons?"

"What will it matter?" Matteus laughed. "They won't be able to kill them? Any of them! Ha- don't you see Martin? We will be the forefathers of a line as mighty as the badgers of the dawning days!"

"And how do you know Valina will pass on my gift?" Martin said quietly, walking over to his friend and looking him squarely in the eyes.

"It has been foreseen," Matteus smiled at him and put a paw on Martin's shoulder. "I have been to the prophets. You were not meant to have a son, Martin, but your gift will pass through your daughter. Your grandson, _our_ grandson will carry on your gift."

"I need to talk to Branlin about this," Martin sighed. "Valina, too."

"No time for that, Martin," Matteus chuckled, pouring them both a goblet of currant wine. "I have to announce Matthias' betrothal in an hour."

"But the documents need to be drafted…"

"Done!" Matteus said boldly, nodding to the papyrus on the table. "All you need do is sign."

"But Valina needs to be dressed for presentation…"

"Where do you think she is now?" Matteus winked as he took a large drink of wine.

"But Matteus, I haven't asked her…"

"Martin, really now!" Matteus laughed, dipping a quill in ink to hand to his friend. "Do you really think a maid is going to say no to marrying a prince?"

Pushing the document towards the captain, the regal mouse turned and bellowed at the door.

"Matthias! Enter!"

Almost instantly, the large door opened and the young prince came forward to stand before his father.

"Yes, Lord Father," Matthias said plainly, watching Martin scratching a quill on the draft.

"I have made my decision on your betrothal, Matthias," Matteus said sternly. "I have decided you will wed Captain Martin's daughter, Valina."

Matthias looked up at his father in astonishment. This had to be some sort of jest. Valina wasn't from a noble line, how could she possibly be his future wife. He knew her well as though their families were of very different classes, their parents were quite close and had dined together many times in the royal family's private chambers where they could not be scrutinized for associating themselves with common beasts. She was an attractive maid with ebony coloured headfur and kind blue eyes, always quick to laugh and smile, and she was very respectful of him as her better, but he still could not picture her as a queen. Seasons, the last time he had seen her she was wearing an apron and her headfur was loose and tangled. Imagine a queen wearing an apron with her headfur down? It was unheard of.

"Now run along and get ready for the presentation," Matteus said laughing at his son's expression.

"But Lord Father," Matthias gaped. "Valina isn't… I thought I had to…"

"You will do as I command, Matthias," Matteus eyed him coldly. "Remember what I said. No protests."

"Father…"

"Captain Martin!" a cry came from behind the closed doors before they were thrown open and a frantic squirrelmaid ran through the entrance. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, pardon the intrusion, but Captain Martin, you must come immediately… your wife…"

Martin didn't wait for her to finish before he grabbed his sword from the table and bolted from the chamber. Seeing their captain's frantic retreat, the Royal Guards all put out their spears to make a path for him through the noble creatures out of respect for his position.

Matteus sighed as he watched his friend leave. Judging by the squirrelmaid's expression, Martin no longer had a living wife.

"Father, where is Martin running to?" Matthias asked quietly, confused by the situation as the door to the chamber closed them off to the Gallery again. "What is wrong with Branlin?"

Matteus shook his head. He was surprised Matthias did know of Branlin's condition and that his wife had not taken it upon herself to educate him to the situation; but then that was Sibylla's way of dealing with things she did not want to accept. She would just ignore the problem and hope it went away or Matteus dealt with it. Still he would have thought she would have told Matthias of Branlin's illness considering she was the queen's most trusted maid-in-waiting. After all she had been the one to introduce Branlin to Martin when as a newlywed she ventured down to the tilt grounds to watch Matteus in his military training. Since their younger days, Martin and Matteus had been training partners and even studied under the same tutor, though Martin's studies were not nearly as extensive. Regardless, the two sets of friends soon found themselves to be two sets of newlyweds by that casual introduction.

"I fear Martin's Branlin is no longer with us, Matthias," Matteus said with a sigh, sitting down on a chair and looking over the hastily signed document. "I fear she has gone to the Dark Forest."

* * *

The presentation of the future Etifeddes was a grand affair. Every noble and high ranking officer of Eutrusia was present for the event; each beast whispering to their neighbour if they knew which maid was to be their future queen. As the ceremony was so prompt, it had to have been a noble maid already present at court, but all the eligible maids seemed to already be there. It was a delicious mystery and the nobility of Eutrusia was greedily lapping it up.

The members of the King's Council were silent as ordered by His Majesty; Matteus wanted every beast tingling with anticipation.

At the front of the Gallery, Prince Matthias stood dutifully beside his father's throne as he waited for them to make their entrance. He had already been announced and now waited patiently for the arrival of his royal parents. It was not uncommon for his mother to keep his father waiting and even more so today as his page had informed him officially of Dame Branlin's death, adding Queen Sibylla was not taking the news of her friend's death well.

Still, after what seemed like an hour, even Matthias' patience was wearing thin and he could only imagine the attitude of the lords below him who would not have had his constitution or royal fortitude. Finally, the herald from the western entrance chimed out above the hubbub of the room:

"Announcing Their Royal Majesties, King Matteus and Queen Sibylla!"

Matthias watched the expressions of the creatures as his mother and father walked past. The all bowed or curtsied, staying respectfully low until the royal couple had passed, but when they rose again their faces held guarded expressions. They were not uneasy, but rather hopeful; hopeful this would go over well. Matthias hoped for that too. It still didn't sit well with him that he, an Etifedd, a crowned prince of the realm, should be saddled with a _commoner_ as a wife, regardless of what a prophet may have seen this maid would give him and Eutrusia. So what if she would carry her father's gift of bloodwrath to the next generation- let her marry another commoner and let him sire Eutrusia's future Captain of the Guard. He didn't understand why his father insisted the captain's gift be brought into the royal family. But there was no arguing with the king. To a king's wishes, every beast must obey.

"Presenting Martin, Captain of the Royal Guard!" the herald called from the southern entrance of the hall and to his reception the prince noticed immediately.

There was no lowering bodies, no creatures inclined heads or mutters of formal addresses; but there were no anxious glances or hushed whispers. No, as the captain strode bravely into the room of his betters, he was greeted warmly and with genuine expressions of loyalty. Every officer stood up a little straighter, prouder still when he acknowledged them individually by name. Many nobles stretched out a paw to him, some even lowering themselves enough to place a comforting paw on the captain's strong shoulder as they said their condolences for the loss of his wife.

Matthias gave his mother a quick glance and noticed she was regally patting the corner of her eyes with her kerchief. Dame Branlin had been as close to a _friend_ to her as royalty was permitted to have. He knew the loss of her would weigh heavy on her and he felt for her.

Turning back to the scene, the prince saw the smiles and security the Captain of the Guard's presence brought the creatures and Matthias couldn't fathom how a mouse of no nobility, but claim to a sacred title and a ferocious gift could inspire such confidence in the Eutrusians. But as he watched the Captain take his ceremonial place at the base of the dais with a small contingent of Royal Guards, Matthias admired Martin's ability to change the mood of the hall. Perhaps there was more reasons to the betrothal than Matthias knew; perhaps having Valina as queen would be good for Eutrusia. Perhaps together they could inspire Eutrusia to confidence in the crown again and erase the trickle of anxiety his father had dripped in with all his political web weaving.

"Your Majesties!" the herald called out, pushing every beast into immediate silence. The richly garbed squirrel strode purposefully into the center of the room, sweeping a grand bow and continued his addresses.

"Your Highness!" he proclaimed with a nod to Matthias before turning to the rest of the nobles, "My Lords and Ladies, my fellow Eutrusians! Presenting our future Etifeddes…

"Valina, daughter of our own Captain Martin!"

The doors to the northern entrance were thrown open and Valina walked slowly into the hall to the hushed whispers and slight gasps. No beast cheered, but it wasn't customary to do so. The Gallery fell into silence, but not a silence that eluded contempt and distrust, rather one of a respectful hush filled with bridled anticipation. Serenely, Valina padded her way along the marble flagstones in her solitary journey towards her new future.

When Valina reached the center aisle and could view properly from the dais, Matthias had to blink four times before he was sure it was even her. Had the prince not had his jaw clenched so tight in anticipation of a nobility uproar, his mouth surely would have fallen open. Still his eyes betrayed him as they grew to the size of sails at the vision that was before him.

"I told you I wasn't letting you go to a snub-nose," King Matteus chuckled quietly into his son's ear. "This one you can enjoy with the candles lit."

Matthias didn't answer the vulgar comment; he was too busy watching Valina walk towards him. He always thought she was pretty, but in her common plain dresses and simple plaited headfur it was hard to think of her as anything ease, but now seeing her formally garbed in a rich gown and stately jewels, Matthias thought she was utterly beautiful.

In measured strides she walked towards them, keeping her head high and paws folded neatly in front of her. She was doing well until she was almost at the base of the dais and looked up to see Queen Sibylla; it was then she faltered, taking an awkward step and tripping on her long gown. Quickly, Captain Martin went to her and steadied Valina by her elbow. She gave her father a sorrowful expression, furiously blinking back tears as her eyes pleaded him for a comforting hug; however, much to the satisfaction of Matthias, the captain held firm to the formality of the occasion and instead of a hug, he gave her a warm smile and reassuring squeeze on her elbow.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" he asked softly, unable to stop the pride in his voice as he just called his very own daughter by a royal title.

Not trusting her voice, Valina only nodded and righted herself. Straightening back up she turned her attention back to the dais, but instead of looking at the queen, she looked directly at Matthias. A slight blush flushed the prince's cheeks and he couldn't fight the flustered feeling that tingled through his body, nor could he stop the small smile that crept onto his lips. At his grin, Valina visibly sighed in relief and smiled back, boldly walking the last few steps towards the dais with all the grace of a properly trained princess.

"Your Majesties, Your Highness," Captain Martin said loudly from behind his daughter. "I give you my daughter, Valina. May she prove a right and just queen and the Seasons bless her and Prince Matthias with issue."

"My son, Prince Matthias Etifedd," King Matteus said formally rising from his throne to address his son who bowed before him. "Will you accept Valina as your future bride?"

"As it is my father's wish and my king's command, yes," Matthias replied eloquently and rose from his bow to turn his attention to Valina. "I will take Valina as my future queen."

Taking the brow crown from the velvet pillow the footbeast held out for him, Matthias descended the steps and carefully placed the golden investiture on Valina's head. To his surprise the brow crown fit perfectly and Valina looked up at him for approval. He just gave her a warm look and despite himself, willed the next three seasons to pass swiftly to the time of their wedding when he would be able to invert the brow crown upwards into the official tiara of the Etifeddes.

Taking her formally by the paw, Matthias led her up the stairs onto the dais, holding her quaking fingers tightly in his to give her strength. Taking a deep breath, Valina turned to face the crowd of nobles and regardless of all the traditions and formality of the ceremony, Eutrusia cheered.

* * *

_**IF YOU READ IT PLEASE REVIEW IT!**_


	3. The Delicate Balance

**Special thanks to Lady Storm who review the last chapter! Yes, you all should find this version a lot more descriptive. **

* * *

**Chapter 2- The Delicate Balance**

It was said the last Lady of Clapsbay carried a spawn so evil, the Seasons would not suffer the babe to be born. Deep within the dark confines of the hidden vermin stronghold, Lady Natara lay writhing in pain from her contractions and when the dark line of death streaked her gums, the end of the line of Clapsbay was certain. It was said when the ratlord was told of his mate's imminent demise, he himself strode into the birthing chamber and cut out the babe from her belly with his own dagger. It was said the screams she produced from the betrayal and pain awoke the dead and the cursed of the Fates slunk up from the shadows of the Gates to bear witness to the brutal birthing.

However, it was not one babe pulled from the ratmaid's womb that day, but two; twin males wailed in the murderous paws of their father while their dying mother tried to reach for them with her last breaths.

"Ye did well, Natara," the ratlord said with a sinister grin as he looked at the two ratlings in his blood soaked paws. "Ye kin die now."

"Clunainach," Natara said weakly. "Please… let me- NO!" she gasped in fright as a dark cloaked creature limped forward out of the shadows towards her babes.

"Die, Natara," Clunainach sneered and handed the ratlings to the beast. "'T'ey be in ta paws o' ta Fates now."

"No!" Natara cried weakly and willed her lungs to keep breathing as she felt her body take on an unearthly chill. She was dying. She knew she was, but now instead of taking her babes with her to the Dark Forest, she had to leave them behind with him and his cursed seers.

Feeling her body shudder and twitch in the anguish of lost blood, Natara settled her eyes on Clunainach, using her dying breaths to mutter a raspy curse:

"They will kill you as you have killed me.  
Two lords too many, when there are three.  
Watch your back as you plot to the west.  
It is not yours; its best left at rest.  
You anger the Seasons as they've angered the Fates.  
Their golden halls 'gainst your cursed 'Gates.  
Blood and black sails; fire and might.  
Welcome the dark; beware of the light."

* * *

"His Majesty the King!" the herald announced as Matthias strode purposefully into the Council Chambers of Vasilis. Immediately, the members of council rose from their chairs and pounded the table with fisted paws, their smiles as broad as the king's. Matthias put his paws up and happily waved off their ovations, holding in a proud laugh in his chest that threatened his regal demeanour. The beasts slowed their cheering, each bowing and seating in turn as Matthias passed them on his way to his place at the large table.

Once the king was seated, Lord Trysten, who was acting as representative for his ailing father, Baron Edwen, rose and addressed Matthias directly.

"Your Majesty," the lord started. "May the west be the first to congratulate you on the healthy birth of yet another prince!"

"And the north, Your Majesty," the aging Baron Milan echoed with the shaky voice of a sage. "It would seem the Seasons have greatly smiled upon both you and Her Majesty. What a day for Eutrusia! First you are blessed with Prince Martin Etifedd within the first two seasons of your marriage and now, on the anniversary of your first son's birth, our magnanimous queen gives you yet another princeling!"

"Yes, it would seem the Seasons have blessed us indeed," Matthias replied with a large grin and inclined his head in appreciation towards the two nobles. Inside the king was still reeling with pride from the previous day's events; he had a thriving son in Martin, newly crowned as Etifedd of Eutrusia upon his first birthday, and now Valina had given him a second one. Matthias had barely finished the ceremonial addresses and placed the Etifedd's coronet on his son's head when Valina had begun her labour. By midday the senior midwife presiding over the royal birth joyously announced to the birth of healthy princeling to the king and court. It was as if nothing could stop Eutrusia's good fortune.

Letting his gaze drift to the left, the king watched as Baron Neron sat quietly reading the parchments and proceedings in front of him as if ignoring the conversation all together. Narrowing his eyes at the baron, Matthias added loudly, "It would seem now _none_ can challenge the validity of the union between Queen Valina and I. Despite your previous apprehensions to the match my lords, I believe you, as well as all of Eutrusia, can see the royal line has never been stronger, nor its future more secure."

"I believe any doubt was all erased with the birth of Prince Martin, Your Majesty," Baron Crar responded plainly. "I can confidently say Her Majesty, Queen Valina, is greatly loved in the south and I know of none who would speak out against her as queen despite her… humble beginnings."

"Are you ill, Baron Neron?" Matthias asked pointedly after a short rift of silence where it was expected for the last baron to offer his congratulations to the king on the royal birth.

"No, Majesty," the baron said shortly and put down the parchment to look the king squarely in the eye. "No, I am not ill."

"Then I will have no choice but to take your silence as an ill favour towards my son," Matthias said dangerously and the guards around the chamber stiffened at the tone of their king's voice, waiting in joyful anticipation of removing the conceited baron.

"Not at all, Your Majesty," Neron replied and motioned to his cup to have it refilled for a toast. Standing, the proud mouse announced, "Your Majesty and my fellow lords…"

"Where is the king!" a voice shouted and hammered on the doors of the Council Chambers. "The king! The king! I must see the king!"

At Matthias' nod the doors were thrown open and a frantic page-squirrel trotted into the center of the chamber and producing a quick bow.

"What is the meaning of this?" Matthias pressed as he rose from his chair. "What is the meaning of your intrusion?"

"I was told to fetch you right away, sire," the squirrel stammered out, forgetting formality in his anxiety.

"You _fetch _the King of Eutrusia?" Lord Trysten laughed and pointed a paw at the squirrel. "Better rephrase that, lad."

"It's just I … Your Majesty I was told to…"

"Well, come on then!" Matthias yelled, panic for something not yet known to him rising in his throat. "Speak lad- out with it!"

"Your Majesty, you must come to your royal chambers at once," the page said quickly at the whip to Matthias voice. "It's urgent- the healers sent me."

"For what?" Matthias pressed and menacingly leaned on the table. "Why would I need to see the healers in my chambers?"

"It's… it's… it…"

"Spit it out!" Matthias said sharply, snapping his fingers and instantly the guards moved forward at the squirrel. "Speak your message or it will be your tongue."

"Your Majesty," the squirrel responded quickly and dropped to his knees before giving the king a sorrowful look. "Your Majesty, your son is dead."

* * *

Matthias stormed into the presence chamber of the royal apartments with a gaggle of lords and advisors striding in his wake. Looking around he saw a large number of chancellors and elders already lining the walls, whispering amongst themselves, but stopping to give the king a bow as he passed. Putting on a stern face he walked towards the doorway to the private chambers, stopping only briefly in front of the doors where a tall mouselet only four seasons old stood respectfully off to the side in front his nurse and scribe. A rose-gold coronet sat proudly on his head and his paws where clasped behind his back while he blinked back tears in his blue eyes.

The nurse dipped a quick curtsy towards the king and the scribe bowed, both uttering "Your Majesty" in practiced unison. The mouselet just continued to stare at the marble flagstones in front of him, not sure how to react at such a time. No amount of lessons or tutelage could have prepared him for the death of his brother. A brother, not hours before, he and his father had seen when they broke protocol to sneak into the royal chamber using the secret passageways to be with the queen and their newest addition to the family.

The king sighed and placed a paw on his young son's shoulder.

"It will be alright, Martin," Matthias said and gave Martin's shoulder a small squeeze. The young prince looked up at his father and forced back a stifled tear. He would not cry in front of the gathering crowd; he had been taught that much.

"If you say so, Lord Father," Martin replied formally and returned his gaze back to the marble.

"Good mouse," Matthias said and nodded his approval of his son's decorum. Looking around at the increasing numbers the king shook his head.

"Have beasts no propriety?" he growled and clenched his teeth. His family had just suffered a terrible loss. Could creatures not give them one ounce of space?

"Your Majesty?" a guard questioned and stepped closer to his king. "Did you say something, Your Majesty?"

"Get them out of here," Matthias snarled and gestured to the nobles. "These are royal chambers, not the Gallery or Feasting Hall- they have no business here save if they are summoned. Get them out."

Without another word, the king motioned to the footbeasts to open the doors and he strode into the private chambers. Immediately, Matthias was bombarded with healers and midwives, all speaking at once in frantic voices, and the mournful cries of Valina in the distance.

"Your Majesty!" a senior healer gasped after a hasty bow. "Your wife, Her Majesty, she will not let go of the babe. We cannot get the body away from her…"

Before the creature to finish his sentence, Matthias silenced him by raising his paw as he pushed his way through the group and walked around the pillars to where Valina was sitting on the steps of the balcony, crying and rocking a lifeless babe in setting sun light. Off to the side, her maids-in-waiting were huddled together, clasping each other's paws and letting silent tears streak their cheeks. Going slowly to his wife, the king knelt in front of her and tried to hold her paw, but Valina snatched it away and held the little bundle closer to her.

"Valina," Matthias said softly and brushed her tear soaked headfur from her face. "Valina, don't do this."

"He's dead, Matthias," she whispered to him with closed eyes. "Our son is dead."

Matthias was silent as he focused on the motionless mouseling in Valina's paws, a mouseling he had held and cuddled close to his heart a few hours before. He didn't know what to say, he couldn't believe this was happening. The babe had seemed strong to him and the midwives had formally reported him to be thriving.

"I just got back from the astrologers," Valina continued quietly, "They finally charted his name."

Looking up at Matthias, Valina let her tears fall as she gasped out her words.

"H-he was going to be another M-Matteus," she stuttered quickly in between breaths and croaked sobs. "H-he was to be named after your father… I was going to the prophets when they came to get me… when they told me h-he was dead…"

Matthias let out a loud growl at her statements and rested his forehead against hers, each of them sharing their sorrow. He had hoped their newest mouseling would carry on a name from his family. Their first son carried Valina's father's name as the astrologers charted, something that had always secretly vexed Matthias. His son was supposed to be of great destiny, yet he did not carry a royal name, but a name of a seemingly common soldier.

Giving Valina a quick kiss on her headfur, Matthias got to his footpaws and rounded on the assemblage of healers and midwives.

"What happened?" Matthias snapped pointing a paw at the senior midwife. "You said yesterday he was a healthy babe."

"That was yesterday," the midwife replied in a shaky voice. They had never seen their king so precarious before; King Matthias always acted formally and with great dignity, but this situation was not one he could have possibly been prepared for.

"Today he seemed hale as well," the midwife continued. "It was when the prince went down for a nap, he didn't awake."

"And what was the cause?" the king pressed stepping in front of them and drawing himself up to his full height to stare at them down his nose. He was furious, hurt and beyond sorrow. "What killed my son? Eutrusia's newest prince?"

"We aren't sure, your Majesty."

"It was the swaddling bands!" Valina cried from her place on the steps. "They were placed too tight!"

Gathering her long skirts about her, Valina went to her husband and relaxed her arms just enough for Matthias to see the marks on the little mouseling's body.

"My son was choked to death!" Matthias roared. "Murder! Murder of a royal prince! Who is responsible for this?"

"Well?" the king commanded at their silence. "Whose head will meet the axe-beast?"

"We cannot find the midwife who was present for the binding, Your Majesty," the principal healer replied shaking his head. "We have searched…"

"Look again!" the king ordered. Hearing Valina start her tears again, he sighed and turned back to her desperately trying to keep herself remotely together.

"Go, all of you," Matthias barked and pointed all of them to the door. "Out! Leave us in peace."

Matthias waited until the last of the creatures were gone before pulled Valina into his arms and embraced her tightly. Closing his eyes, the king rested his chin on her head and breathed in deep breaths to control his emotions.

"It's the Fates that took him, Matthias," Valina said quietly, nuzzling her face into the rich fabric of his tunic. "They sent an evil creature to do this to us. They are punishing us…"

"Don't talk like that, Valina," Matthias said as he exhaled loudly and pulled her back to look into her eyes. "We aren't being punished…"

"We are!" the queen snapped back and pulled away from him, the lifeless form still in her paws. "We tempted them with our union, with Martin… oh, Matthias, what will happen to Martin?"

"What do you mean, what will happen to Martin?" Matthias asked as his wife paled even more than she already was.

"What if the Fates try to take Martin from us?" Valina gasped. "Matthias…"

"Valina, don't think that way," Matthias interrupted her, his own hint of fear evident in his tone.

"I have no other way to think, Matthias," Valina breathed and gave the king a solemn look. "Our families' gifts… they've past to Martin. The Fates didn't see it until it was too late. Then we dared to make another one… we've insulted them. They've taken our princeling away, what if they try and take our Etifedd? Matthias, what if the Fates try to take Martin?"

"They can't, Valina," Matthias replied with a hopeful sigh. "If he truly possesses our family gifts then they can't take him away from us. Only the Seasons can."

"It's their fault you know," Valina whispered and moved back into Matthias arms again. "Our fathers. They were too ambitious. They strove too high."

"They both had great hopes for Eutrusia, yes."

"We both feared this would happen," Valina continued as if Matthias hadn't even spoken. "We both wondered… You sat in this very room when Martin was born and told me you feared the Fates retribution."

"Yes," Matthias quietly. There was no use denying it. He had always feared the possibility of what might happen, but it all seemed irrelevant while Martin continued to thrive and no threat came. "I had apprehensions about our marriage."

"Then why didn't you fight your father on it?" Valina countered, her grief causing her to lash out at insignificant circumstances. "I was a common maid- surely you could have fought him on those grounds alone!"

"Valina, enough of this," Matthias said sternly. Bringing up old arguments was not going to help their current situation. Sure he had not been very receptive to the idea of marrying Valina in the beginning, but as the seasons passed before their marriage, he grew to respect her and admire how well she rose to her new station. Even his mother had commented on her abilities and potential as an Etifeddes; and that was coming from a maid that had been raised since a babe to be a future queen. After a time, Valina's lineage no longer matter to him, however when she told him he was going to be a father a new form of trepidation had entered his conscience; the very fear they were dealing with right now.

"If you were so against marrying me, why didn't you say something?" Matthias retaliated. "You seemed more than agreeable to becoming a future queen!"

"I didn't have a choice!" Valina said angrily. "My mother just died before my very eyes! I was still holding her paw hoping she would take another breath when the herald came in and pulled me away to the palace. I couldn't think, I could barely breathe…

"And now I still don't have a choice," she exhaled, calming herself and turning back towards the balcony, the calming waves of the sea lapping the shore below them. "My son has been taken from me…"

"We are at the will of the Seasons, Valina," Matthias said plainly, letting his anger and frustration go. Valina only nodded to acknowledge she heard him and started to rock the little bundle in her arms and hum a lullaby as if putting the babe to sleep.

"Valina, you have to let him go," Matthias said with a sigh, walking up behind his queen and holding her shoulders tightly. He knew he had to get the dead mouseling away from her. He didn't want to use force. He wanted her to give it up freely.

"No!" Valina cried and leaned back into him. "Our son, Matthias. Our son is dead."

"Then let us honour him as he should be," Matthias pressed. Seeing her hold start to loosen, the king pushed his fact further. "Valina, lay him there on the chest yourself so we can mourn him quietly. Allow him to go to the Dark Forest with tribute, Valina, where he can be there with your father and mine."

Valina nodded slowly and walked over to the ornately carved chest by the archway. Laying the small figure on the cushion, she backed away with her paws to her mouth to stop the cries. Matthias came up behind Valina and wrapped his arms around her, holding her and willing her to take some of his strength. To the king's relief, she turned in his paws and wrapped her arms around his body to embrace him as well, each of them trying to comfort the other.

"Martin," Valina sobbed into Matthias' shoulder. "Matthias, where is my son?"

"Waiting to see you," he replied softly. "In the presence chamber."

"Please send for him," Valina sighed and wiped tears from her cheeks. "Matthias, please. I need to hold a living son in my paws."

Matthias nodded and kissed the side of her headfur before leaving Valina to cross the chamber. Opening the door himself, the king walked into the now virtually empty presence chamber and gestured for Martin to come forward to him.

"Your mother needs to see you, Martin," Matthias said strongly and tipped his head towards the open door. "No tears, son. She needs our strength."

"Is my brother really dead, Lord Father?" Martin asked looking up at his father with struggling eyes.

"Yes, Martin," Matthias breathed and led the young mouselet inside the private chambers. Once inside, Matthias closed the door gently and pointed a paw to where Valina was now kneeling before the chest. "Yes, he is Martin, and now we must honour him as a family."

Martin nodded and bravely strode ahead of his father towards his mother. He didn't stop at her side, but rather went boldly to the chest and looked upon the deceased mouseling.

"My brother?" Martin said quietly.

"Yes, Martin," Valina whispered getting to her footpaws and holding Martin tight.

"I would have been a good brother to him," he said softly. "We would have been great friends."

Valina nodded. Martin was always strong even in grief despite his young age. Already in his young life he had to deal with the deaths of both his grandfathers and his grandmother, not to mention a beloved nursemaid who had fallen ill and perished to a fever. He had the ability like his father to always say the right things, always diplomatic, but also had courage and strength in his heart, like her father. He was truly a mix of both lines, though how deep, they still had yet to know.

For a time the family stood before their lost family member, each of them saying silent prayers to the Seasons and holding each other by the paw. Seeing Valina start to sway from exhaustion, Matthias led her and Martin over to the lounge by the fire and got them to settle into the comfort of the pillows and blankets. At a nod from Valina, Matthias gave a shout and a guard and a healer appeared at the door. Not trusting his voice, the king pointed to the dead princeling and the two went forward to collect it.

"Be careful with him," Matthias said painfully as the healer wrapped the tiny form in a black sheet. "He is to be laid to rest beside my father and mother in the royal crypt. The ceremony will be in two days."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the healer replied and gestured for the guard to pick up the now tightly wrapped body. "I will let the lords know your wishes for the arrangements."

The king gave a curt tilt of his head and returned his attention back to his remaining family as the door clicked shut to leave them alone again.

Matthias watched as Valina quietly sat with Martin and discussed the happenings of their son's day; his lessons and instructions, and even what he had to eat for his mid-day meal. It was something they did daily and Matthias was relieved to see his queen slip back into her normal routine. Going to them, he placed a kiss on both their heads and at Valina's puzzled expression he gave her a weak smile.

"I'll be right back," Matthias croaked out, his own voice cracking under his emotions as the weight of his son's death pressed down hard on his shoulders.

"You're not going back to council?" Valina ask anxiously and grasped his paw in attempt to make him stay. "Matthias…"

"No, Valina," Matthias said and shook his head more against his threatening tears than in response to her question. "I just need to be alone with the sea."

* * *

Matthias strode out onto the white sands from the slate steps of the old stairwell that led directly from the palace to the beach. It was a weakness in Vasilis' fortifications, but was strategically hidden in a brief maze of rocks; for some beast to find the entrance, they would have to know it was even there to look for it. Quickly, the king slipped around the ancient pillars and stepped out onto the open sea air, watching the calming waves of the sea and finding solace in their rhythmic sound as he walked to their earthy beat. They continued on despite it all. They were constant. He had to be constant for his family too.

Behind him three royal guards padded the beach in his wake, keeping a keen eye, but a respectful distance so as not to disturb their grieving sovereign. The day had dawned with such hope and promise and now as the sun started to set on the horizon, all were reminded of the fleetingness of life and humbled by the power of the Fates.

The king stopped and sighed at the sea's refuse which littered the shores from the storm that happened upon Aurelius the previous night. All around were pieces of driftwood and clumps of seaweed with the occasional marooned sea creature, now dead and dried from the hot southern sun.

"We will have to send out some beasts to clean this up," Matthias huffed and kicked a piece of soaked wood over to reveal an urchin. "We'll have to clean this up before some beast hurts themselves."

"Majesty?" one of the guards questioned and stepped forward as to better hear the commands of his king.

"I said we will have to…" Matthias started to say in louder voice when a tiny sound reached his ears. At first he thought he was imagining things; he thought he heard a babe crying. Shaking his head, the king opened his mouth to speak, but again the cry rang out.

"Do you hear that?" Matthias asked the guards. "Do you hear an infant?"

"It's coming from over that way!" a squirrel guard said boldly and drew his sword to point down the coast to a curve in the rocks. "It's coming from the west!"

"Draw your swords!" Matthias ordered, pulling out his own blade that hung at his side and led the guards off at a trot towards the impending danger. Thankfully he had thought to arm himself before leaving the palace in case of contest and as it would seem, it was a good thing he did.

Cautiously, the four made it to the rocks and peek around the bend to see what had been a small ship cracked up against the rocks. Around the boat, bodies of mice and otters lay crumpled in the sand or folded of the broken railings and short mast. There didn't appear to be any form of life, but where was the crying coming from.

"Must have gotten caught up in the storm last night," one of the guards exclaimed and sheathed his sword. "Poor creatures."

"Looks to be a fishing vessel," the other commented. "We'll have to check with Admiral Daelahn to see if all the ships made it back to port."

"Check for survivors," Matthias ordered and worked his way around the ship searching for the source of the wails. "Find the…"

"Your Majesty!" the third guard called and dropped to his knees at the stern of the wrecked ship. "Your Majesty!"

Sheathing his sword, Matthias walked over and stared down at the sight of a dead mousemaid. In her arms, a tiny mouseling wiggled and squirmed in its soaked blanket, whimpering and making sucking noises with its mouth in hunger.

Without a thought, Matthias picked up the little bundle and held it tight to his chest, warming the little babe with his body. He couldn't help the smile that curved his lips as his paternal instincts tingled through his body at the feel of a little life in his paws.

"It's Ma musta been a fishermouse," the guard stated the obvious. "Probably thought a little sea air would help the mite sleep."

"Poor little tyke," the squirrel guard said from the stem and nudged a dead body with his footpaw. "Best get that little one to the orphanage quick-like. By the feel o' these bodies, it's not had a suckle for a better part of a day."

"Back to the palace, then," Matthias ordered, now unconsciously rocking the little mouseling in his paws. "Alert the Lord Admiral and try to find out who these creatures belong to. If nothing else, organize a contingent and clean this up and lay the beasts to rest."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the guards replied in unison and the four of them started to walk back to the palace.

"I can take the little one from you, Your Majesty," the squirrel guard said and held out his paws. "I'll make sure she gets to the orphanage."

"Yes, of course," the king replied and went to hand the babe off to the guard when it let out a thunderous protest and twisted back into Matthias' paws, whimpering and cooing when the mouse brought it back to his chest to comfort it.

"There, there, little one," Matthias whispered and rubbed its tiny back. "You're safe, it's alright."

"Seems like it's got high standards!" the guard laughed. "Why be held by a common beast, when you can be held by a king!"

"Why indeed," Matthias chuckled and gently rocked the little babe in his arms, willing it to stop crying. Pulling the hood of the mouseling robe back so he could stroke its ears, Matthias smiled to see a thick bunch of tightly curled headfur crowning the little one's head. It was a little maiden. A little maid with soft green eyes the colour of the sea after a storm.

"It's alright," Matthias said happily. "I can carry her."

The little maid cooed at the king and stretched up a tiny paw to bat at his face. Letting it touch his chin, the regal mouse sighed at the feel of it and gave it a little kiss.

A strange feeling came over Matthias. Maybe he and Valina were not meant to have any more progeny. Maybe Martin all from their line they could have now that they attracted the attention of the Fates. He smiled as he looked out over the waves towards the setting sun. It was the summer solstice. The seasons were changing.

"What will happen to her at the orphanage," Matthias asked as they twisted their way through the rock maze to the stair. "Will she get a proper nurse?"

"Probably just some plain milk until they can get solids into her," the one guard replied. "Usually babes get fostered quickly though."

"She's too young for plain milk," the king muttered thinking of the team of wet nurses that were at his disposal right now since the death of his son. "Hopefully the Lord Admiral can track her family down and she can go to them directly."

"If her family wasn't all on that ship, Your Majesty," a guard put in. "Judgin' by the age o' that maid, I'd be saying this wee one be her first."

"Aye, probably onboard to spend time with the father I'd wager," the squirrel guard said and held the door of the hidden stairwell open for the king. "I'd think this little maid be in the market for a new family."

"I think she's already found one," Matthias said softly and sighed as the mouseling cuddled closer in his arms and yawned, exhausted now that she felt content and safe.

"Majesty?" the squirrel guard asked with a raised eyebrow at the king, but Matthias wasn't listening or paying attention to anything but his little possession. Once safely inside the palace, the king waved off his guards and bounded up the stairs to the western wing of Vasilis and towards his family. With each step he became more certain of his thoughts. The Fates had taken away one of his children, but perhaps the Seasons had given one back to him.

* * *

"Valina?" Matthias said gently, coming into the private chamber of the royal apartments. His wife looked up from her place on the lounge and eyed Matthias suspiciously as he came forward holding his small bundle. Martin got to his footpaws from where he was seated beside her and took a step back to allow his father room to get to his mother.

Matthias got down on his knees in front of the queen and held his paws open, showing the little maid with her sea salt crusted fur. Immediately, Valina's eyes warmed and she held out her paws.

"I found her by the sea," Matthias said, placing the mouseling in Valina's arms. "I know that one life cannot replace another…"

"Oh, Matthias, a little maiden!" Valina smiled and cooed at the babe. "She's beautiful- look at her pretty green eyes."

"She was in a ship wreck," Matthias continued, holding his arm out for his son to come close. "There were no survivors. I believe the Seasons have given her to us."

"Oh, she's perfect, Matthias," Valina breathed, rocking the little one in her paws. Looking up at him in disbelief, she asked quietly. "She's ours?"

"Would you like her to be?"

"Yes!" Valina whispered, giving the babe a kiss on her forehead. "She will be our little princess."

"A princess of Eutrusia," Matthias smiled at her, breathing a sigh of relief that he was able to ease Valina's suffering. "Martin will always be our prince, our son, but Eutrusia can have a princess."

Valina grinned broadly and nodded her agreement. The little babe would be a princess in name to show her station in the family, but not royalty. Inwardly, she chuckled. Like that meant anything.

"What are we going to call her?" Valina sighed happily and held her down for Martin to see the mouseling. "I suppose she didn't come with a name tag?"

"Not many of them do!" Matthias laughed, giving Martin's shoulder's a squeeze. "Only us lucky ones, right son?"

"Yes, Father," Martin smiled, knowing his father was referring to the astrologers who decided the names of the royal babes.

"Well if she is not going to be considered royalty, she should at least have a regal name," Valina put forth and started wiping the sea salts off the little one's face with her kerchief. "What can we name her that will signify that?"

Martin watched as his mother tended to the mouseling, smiling and laughing when the mouseling clasped the queen's finger and pulled it to her lips to start sucking on it.

"I'll call for a wet nurse," Matthias said softly and dropped a kiss on Valina's headfur. "Shall I order the cradle be brought into our chambers tonight, or do you want her in the nursery?"

"Here," Valina replied, a light smile curling her lips. "I want to be close to her."

"As you wish, my queen," Matthias chuckled and went to the entrance of the presence chamber to call the servants.

"Any thoughts of names, Martin?" Valina asked quietly and removed the babe's soaked wrappings to replace it with a warm blanket from the lounge.

"Malina," Martin said softly and smiled at the smallness of the little maiden.

"What was that, Martin?" Valina grinned at her son.

"Malina," Martin repeated as Matthias came back into the room and settled himself down beside Valina on the settle.

"It's Matthias and Valina," Martin stated. "Your names. Her name should be Malina."

Matthias laughed and ruffled his son's ears affectionately.

"Always quick of mind aren't you, son?"

"Malina," Valina mused as she looked at the little maiden in her paws before nodding her agreement. "Malina she is then."

"What do you think of her, Marty?" Matthias asked with a smile. The young mouse smiled back at his father's use of his nick-name. Trying to look inside the blanket at the mouseling, Martin just stared at the little maid.

"What do you think of Malina, Martin?" Valina questioned and gave Matthias a happy sigh when a soft knock sounded on the chamber door and a small team of nursemaids entered the room, waiting patiently by the door to be waved forward by the royals.

"She's beautiful," Martin said softly looking deep into Malina's soft green eyes.

* * *

**So a bit of a long one there, but we get a lot more insight into this important event and also the workings of Eutrusia.**

_**IF YOU READ IT, PLEASE REVIEW IT!**_


	4. Of Titles and Daggers

**Special thanks to Lady Storm for reviewing the last chapter.**

**So an altogether new chapter for you guys; one that was originally cut from the tale, but I reinstated. As I said in the beginning- this edition will be going a bit slower and cover things that were previously skimmed over.**

* * *

**Chapter 3- Of Titles and Daggers**

The morning light was just starting to filter through the tall windows of the Grand Gallery when a young mouse padded silently into the empty hall and walked towards the large tapestry that hung high above the various alters along the entire length of the western wall. As he walked, the mouse squinted his blue eyes in the dim light, studying each of his forefathers and ancestors with particular scrutiny. There were great fighters dressed in armour, administrators holding large scrolls, seabeasts, explorers, peace-bringers… then he came to his father; a stately garbed mouse with a large tome in one arm, a chalice and quill in the other. A philosopher. His father would always be known as a philosopher-king. One the country turned to for guidance and action alike, all with the same confidence he would lead them in the right direction for peace and prosperity. And he always had. But what would come after King Matthias? What would he, Prince Martin Etifedd, bring this great kingdom? It was still uncertain. The prophets couldn't see his future as they had been able to see his predecessors. Beside his father's image, where Martin's likeness should have hung, was an empty space of bare marble.

Sitting down on the cool stone, the prince continued to look upon his ancestors, wordlessly asking for guidance and struggling with his mind on where his future would take him, where his purpose would lay. But his mind, like the prophets' third eye was blind to his path before him. All he could do was live in the present each day, making the most of it, until his future could be seen and his path revealed.

"Ah, Martin, there you are," the voice of the king echoed through the Gallery towards the young mouse. "Your servants are looking for you."

"I couldn't sleep," Martin replied softly and got to his footpaws to formally address his father. Going down on one knee in front of the king, Martin waited until Matthias lay a paw on his head in blessing and beckoned him to rise, before looking up into his father's eyes. "I thought it best if I started my day early."

"I see," Matthias chuckled and waved his own servants back to have a more private word with his son. "Martin, this is the third time this week I have caught you here in the morning all alone. Is there something you need to talk about?"

"No, Lord Father," the prince replied dutifully. "I am just searching for wisdom."

"And have you found it?"

"None past my twelve seasons," Martin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "And of that, nothing worthy of kingly wisdom."

"It is our experiences that make us wise, Martin," Matthias said plainly and motioned for his son to walk with him. "Tutelage gives us knowledge of many things, but only experience allows us to exercise that knowledge with our thoughts. It is the marriage between the two which gives us a course of action, and that action, that experience makes us wise to the situation at paw."

Martin just nodded and walked with his father into the open corridors that overlooked the palace courtyard. Below them, guards bustled about as they changed watches and servants scurried to and fro with armfuls of objects as they started another day of palace life. High above them the banners fluttered in the soft sea breeze and the light from the rising sun was just starting to reflect on the highest towers. The air was still cool in the mauve landscape, but already the breeze bore a heat of what would bring about another warm southern day.

"Martin, there is something I wish to discuss with you," Matthias started as they continued their advance down the hallway. "You know of your grandsire Martin's title of Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"Yes, Lord Father," Martin replied with a hint of excitement in his tone. Over the seasons, the young prince had heard many tales of his grandfather's bravery as the leader of Eutrusia's army and the legends that circulated in regards to his family and hereditary title. As it was formidable mouse had passed his sword to his grandson on deathbed when Martin was little over two seasons old; it was that same sword that hung above the prince's fireplace in his private chambers, patiently waiting for the day when the mouse would be strong enough to wield it.

"It is an important position," the king said firmly, stressing the seriousness of the conversation. "One of great responsibility and bravery."

"Yes, Father."

"To lead the Royal Guard, to be its commander is to never pull back and inspire others to courage and honour. In times of trouble, the Captain of the Royal Guard is entrusted with the safety of Eutrusia; to keep all beasts from harm."

"Yes."

"It's a hereditary title, Martin," Matthias continued as he led Martin down a flight of stairs and towards the lower levels of the northern wing, before ascending another stairwell. Behind them, a pair of servants broke from the group and took up a torch each as the hallway darkened, striding ahead of their sovereigns to light their way.

"But Grandfather Martin did not have a son," the prince said plainly. "My Lady Mother was his only child."

"Yes, she was," Matthias sighed and placed a paw on his son's shoulder. "But through her, the late captain did have an heir. Your mother had you.

"Your grandfather gave you his sword before he died, Martin," Matthias pressed. "You were very young at the time, but do you remember any of the words he said to you?"

"Not really, Lord Father," Martin shrugged. "I recall something about protecting the weak and not doing anything I would be ashamed of, but other than that, nothing. Well, besides holding the handle of his battle sword."

"Protect the weak and defend the innocent," Matthias rhymed off softly. "Do not let your heart rule your mind and never do anything you would be ashamed of. Stand for courage. Stand for honour and always to Eutrusia be true.

"This is the creed of the Captain of the Royal Guard, Martin," Matthias said sternly, stopping and waving his servants back further to give the two a private moment. "A creed spoken with your grandfather's dying words; words that named you his successor. Eutrusia's next Captain of the Royal Guard."

"Me?" the young mouse gaped at his father in the dim light of the hall.

"Yes, Martin, you," the king smiled and squeezed his son's shoulders. "You are still too young to lead the Guard into battle, but I feel you are old enough to accept some of its responsibility.

"You will accompany me to any war council meetings and observe the many facets of your new title. In addition to your regular studies, you will have lessons in military strategy and tactics…"

"And will I finally get to use my sword?" Martin questioned with a quiver to his voice as his lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Will I finally be taught how to fight with a real blade?"

"For now you and I can continue sparring with our wooden swords until your old enough to wield that big broadsword of yours," Matthias chuckled at his son's enthusiasm. "For now, you will hold the title in ceremony only, giving you knowledge of its duties. Upon the time when, Seasons willing, you take up the title fully, your experience gained from this internship, will have made you _wise_ to the honours it requires when danger calls."

"Yes, Lord Father!" Martin replied happily and fought the urge to throw himself into his father's paws for an embrace. Such intimate actions were not to be done in the presence of serving beasts or outside royals' private chambers. "I will do all you and Eutrusia have asked of me."

"Good mouse," Matthias nodded and gestured for them all to continue down the corridor. "Being responsible to one's sovereign and realm is the mark of a king in training."

Martin nodded at the praise, clasping his paws behind his back as they walked off down the hall.

"Lord Father, where are we going?" the prince asked with a puzzled glance up at his father.

"Now, Martin, how can you expect to join a war council without a blade at your side?" Matthias smirked and he motioned to the guard-flanked wooden doors in front of him that led to the palace armoury. "After all, the council can only begin once the Captain has laid down his blade with his lieutenants and king, signifying them as one in the protection of the empire."

"But my sword is too big for me," Martin huffed. "I tried the other day to lift it off the pegs but…"

The young mouse stopped when he saw his father's raised eye brow and looked at his footpaws in silence.

"Yes, I heard something about stacked chairs and a tumble," the king sighed. "I am sure your bruised tail is enough of a reminder that you shouldn't do such things. You could have seriously hurt yourself, Martin. What if you had of fallen into the fire?"

"I only fell because Malina startled me," Martin said defensively. "She came through the pass-ways and I lost my balance."

"Yes, I have already talked to her about using proper doors from now on," Matthias chuckled and stopped in front of the doors. "She is always stealing away to places she shouldn't be."

"She was just trying to hide from her music tutor," Martin said quickly. "She doesn't like to play the dulcimer in front of the court like he makes her…"

"Malina has a talent and Lord Johann is trying to foster it," Matthias responded and held up his paw to stop any further opposition from his son. "Malina is a different conversation all together, my son. One you should not worry about and leave up to your mother and I."

"Yes, Lord Father," Martin muttered and fought the scowl that desperately wanted to shadow his face. Since her arrival into their family he had always felt protective of her and her interests. Malina knew he was too and often came running to Martin for aid when a situation arose that she couldn't handle on her own; many a time he had held her paw while walking into a large crowd of nobles or sat in front of the onlookers while she performed her music so she could focus on him alone. At night when they couldn't sleep, they would both wander to their balconies of their separate chambers and look at the stars together or watch the moon on the waves as they rolled towards the shore. During the day when they were able to slip away from their tutors, they would meet at the base of the old sea stair and steal off together down the shore in search of treasure and adventure, returning with giggles and smiles when the guards caught up to them to escort them back to Vasilis.

Even during tournaments and games days, she would follow her mother's example and give Martin a favour to tie on his wrist, as Valina gave Matthias regardless of their lack participation. Though Martin yearned to partake in the various tests all the other nobles and fighters did, royalty was forbidden for joining in. As it was, the young prince would all but hang over the side of the Royal Box and observe every aspect of the events. His father would admonish his actions, but his mother would just cluck at the king, patting his paw and telling him their prince just had a thirst to prove himself. And she was right, he did.

"Now, back to our conversation," the king said bringing their discussion back to heel. "Yes, Martin, your grandfather's sword is too large for you to wield yet, but I thought we could find something suitable for you to carry here."

With a nod from Matthias, the guards pulled open the heavy wooden doors and the royal mice entered the large room with their entourage. Martin gaped at the sight of arms in front of him. Rows of spears, halberds and pikes leaned in their racks, shields of all shapes hung on hooks and royal standards and banners displaying the royal colours and coat of arms stood proudly in their holders. Shelves upon shelves and tables upon tables housed countless swords, dirks, axes, spikes, bolas, maces, chain hilts and daggers; their keen edges twinkling in the morning light that was now brightly shining through the high windows overlooking the palace tilt grounds were the guards trained.

Without fear the young prince followed his father forward into a separate room off the main chamber which house the arms of the royal family. Martin smiled as the servants lit the high floor candelabras so as to properly show off the richness of the store before them. Plates of gilded armour winked at him from their resting places and coats of gold and bronze chainmail hung from hooks and over yokes to show off their masterful details. Decorated shields matched ornately designed swords and battle axes; all polished, sharpened, ready to protect their king should the charge of battle call.

"This way Martin," Matthias chuckled at the astonished look on his son's face and waved him forward towards a low table covered with daggers of all lengths and curves.

"Which one is yours Da?" Martin gasped out as he trotted forward into his father's shadow, letting formality slip from him in his wonderment. "Which armour is yours?"

The king laughed and gave his son a smile. "Can you guess?"

"No!" Martin giggled. "None of them have a place to put your quill!"

Matthias gave a light snort at the prince's jest and motioned to a set of shining steel plates with bronze details. As Martin walked towards the armour with lit-up eyes, pride in his father's plates evident on his face, Matthias looked up the steel with mixed emotions. It had been a long seasons since he had been called upon to wear the war garb; not since his early days as king after his father's death and Eurus rose in protest, but not rebellion. No, they had made it very clear that it was not Matthias they were against, but rather his newly crowned queen.

He knew Baron Neron had been behind it, but slippery as an eel, the mouse noble covered his tracks so well, neither Matthias nor his magistrates could pin it to him. Instead, a poor country knight, Syr Laneon, had been charged for the crimes against the crown and lost his head. However, out of the ashes of the uprising, Matthias had found an unexpected alliance in Lord Ulran, who took his own personal forces and openly joined the Royal Guard under Captain Martin's command to quell the revolt. To further prove his loyalty, Ulran had entered into the final charge with the king himself, acting as a side beast for Matthias' protection. It had been an easy victory for the Royal Guard and the battle itself light, but it had still left its mark on the king making him leery of any battle, only calling the Guard to arms if there was no other way possible. Though widely praised for his diplomacy, Matthias knew not every battle could be avoided by talking. No, what was happening in the western states could bring about his armour's usage again.

"It looks so heavy!" Martin smiled and tapped a paw on the hip plate to hear it give a low ring. "You must be awfully strong to bear it Da."

"It's quite light when it's on, Marty," Matthias sighed and gave his son a light smile. "You'll see one day when you are old enough."

"Have we always been fighters, Da?" Martin questioned and turned his attention back to his father and started slightly at the presence of their servants, reminding him they were not alone. "I mean, Lord Father."

"We have always defended our kingdom bravely," Matthias answered with a nod. "Whether it is at the tip of a quill or the edge of a sword, we must keep Eutrusia's creatures safe as is our responsibility as its ruling house.

"Now, my captain," the king grinned and beckoned his son forward. "What dagger will you wield? A rondel or perhaps a barelard?"

* * *

**I would love to know some thoughts on these chapters you have not seen... so please write me a little blurb! **

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	5. An Absent Blessing

**Special thanks to Jade Tealeaf for helping me fine tune this little chapter.**

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**Chapter 4- An Absent Blessing**

"That's it Your Highness, push forward!" The arms master shouted from his vantage point above the tilt grounds as he watched the young mouse battle a Royal Guard backwards up the hill. Loud clangs could be heard as the otter's javelin deflected the many onslaughts from Martin's sword. The veteran squirrel chuckled to himself as he watched Martin expertly cleave the javelin in two, forcing the otter to draw his dirk in a last defense.

"Come on, Loukin!" the squirrel shouted. "Surely an otter can best a mouse- he's not but a lad!"

"I think he's got 'im, Donovan," a serious looking mouse stated from beside the squirrel. Leaning further on the railing, the mouse smiled and pointed a paw at the otter. "Loukin's on his heel."

"Fates betide, he is," he replied with a chuckle. "Bet you're glad Prince Martin will be on your side of the charge, Lieutenant."

"Wouldn't want to be against him that's for sure!" the lieutenant laughed and clapped the arms master on the back. "Seasons forbid the need will arise."

"We have been fortunate over the last seasons, Klein, but that doesn't mean it will continue."

"It's been six seasons since the War of Wesrus," the lieutenant said plainly, taking his leave to organize the next pair to combat. "King Matthias crushed the corsairs invading then and we can do it again if need be."

"Aye, he did," the arms master replied lowly and focused his attention on the sparring pair below him. The last time the Guard had been called to arms, this prince had been a mere twelve seasons old and unable to lead the army into battle against the sea scum that were pillaging the western borders of Eutrusia. The king himself had led them to battle and returned victorious, but the king was older now as was his son, the realm's rightful Captain of the Guard. Whichever disturbance occurred next would be on the prince's shoulders to counter; and still very young shoulders they were- young and untested against the dangers of war and battle. Young, untested and without a reassurance of a greater gift than the natural talent for swordplay he exhibited.

Donovan twitched his ear at the sound of approaching footpaws to his right and he saw the king and queen ascend the narrow stairs of the overhang to better view the scene below them.

"Your Majesties," Donovan said respectfully and gave the regal mice a quick bow.

"Syr Donovan," Matthias addressed him formally and nodded towards his son. "He's improving."

"Every day, Your Majesty," the squirrel replied. "I'm amazed at his skill, as is his lieutenants."

"Skill," Matthias sighed and looked down at his battling son. He should have been proud watching Martin fight, but he was anxious with anticipation. Maybe today. Maybe today, Martin would push himself hard enough.

"How is Martin training this morning, Donovan?" Valina questioned pointedly and moved beside the once close friend of her father. "It looks like a good spar."

"It is, Majesty," the arms master responded with a kindly smile. "Like I said, he's talented."

"Talent isn't enough," Matthias piped up from where he leaned over the rail. "Syr Donovan, has he bloodwrath or not?"

"He is still young, Your Majesty," the squirrel said delicately as Valina closed her eyes at the sharp tone in the king's speech. "Give him time."

"Prince Martin has had enough time to prove his quality," Matthias scowled. "He started combat training at fifteen seasons, Syr Donovan. Surely, in the three seasons since that commencement you have noticed _something_."

"Matthias, please," Valina sighed and walked back to her husband. Laying her paw on his, she gave him a smile. "Have faith in your son."

Matthias did not verbally respond, but rather gripped the wood railing tighter to hold in his frustration. Why were the prophets' vision not coming true? The oracle said Valina would bring her family's gift to his house, but why was it not happening? It was imperative Martin come into his skill. If only he could tell them all why, then they would understand his impatience. If only they knew.

"Prince Martin Etifedd is training more arduous than any creature his age, Your Majesty," Donovan said quickly at the king's reaction. "We're pushing him hard, but he has not shown any signs of bloodwrath yet."

"All this training and nothing?" Matthias pressed. "Not even a glimmer? Not a hint of red?"

"No, sire," Donovan said lowly shaking his head at the snap to the king's voice. "We keep throwing beasts at him… Loukin watch your flank!"

But the warning came too late. Martin blocked Loukin's downward swing, twisting as the blades locked and kicked the legs out from under the otter. Loukin fell backwards with a large thud, his dirk falling from his paw and opening his eyes to Martin's sword tip at his throat.

"Excellent, Your Highness!" Donovan praised from the stand. Laughing he added, "Somebeast get the lad some water- that's three in a row he's bested today!"

Down on the green, Martin grinned at the praise, putting up his sword and offering his paw to the otter.

"You didn't have to go easy on me, Loukin," Martin winked as he hauled the soldier to his footpaws and handed the otter his dirk.

"I wasn't, Your Highness!" Loukin laughed, sheathing his blade and walking over to pick up his severed javelin. "I was trying to disarm you with every move!"

"Ha!" Martin smirked, taking an offered canteen of water from a nearby spearbeast and greedily drank the cool liquid. He was dying of thirst from his exertion and his muscles were screaming at him from relentless use, but he relished in the sensation. It made him feel alive. His training made him feel like he had a purpose. There was a progression to his life; a path.

"Martin!" A loud voice boomed from above him and the prince closed his eyes to prepare himself for his admonishment of the day.

"Yes, Lord Father?" Martin said as plainly as his voice would allow him while he sheathed his sword at his side, turning and giving a low bow at the balcony. "Would Your Majesty like something of me?"

At Martin's calm address, Matthias fought the urge to snarl back _yes_. It was evident even at that distance, his son was not feeling any effects of his absent blessing. Instead the king cleared his throat and motioned for his son to join him on the stand. With a nod, Martin proceeded to the stairs while another pair of beasts moved on the ground to resume the drills.

"Matthias, please do not do this here," Valina whispered to the king as Martin bounded to the top of the stairs. "Later, in our private chambers…"

Matthias didn't say another word, but rather stepped forward to grab Martin roughly by the chin and turned his face up to the sun, looking hard in his eyes. Not seeing any red, Matthias pushed Martin's face away and gave Syr Donovan a disappointed look before insisting Martin be trained harder.

For Martin, Matthias' silence towards him was worse than his words would have been. The prince was desperate to prove himself worthy of his father and to make him proud, but it seemed the older Martin got, the harder he tried at all things he thought would bring Matthias pride, the further his father became to him. The prince yearned for the days when he and his father had been close, when no matter what happened the king had been there with a supportive paw and a kind word. Now all he got was a clasp to the chin and a silent dismissal.

Did it not matter to his father he trained harder than any other beast on the grounds? Three, sometimes four hours he worked hard at the butts and tilts, constantly being pushed by Syr Donovan for more, relentlessly challenged by all sorts of creatures.

Was it not enough that his paws were calloused like a fieldpaw's due to endless blisters from his sword handle; that his shoulders ached so badly at night he would lean against the hearthstones of his fire willing their warmth to ease his throbbing muscles so he could sleep? He knew his father was disappointed in him- it was evident in his every gaze he gave him, but it was nothing Martin could control. He just wasn't the creature he was supposed to be; why couldn't the king realize that and accept it?

"It was a good fight, Martin," Valina said softly and came up to pat her tall son on the paw in as much of a motherly comfort as she could give him in public.

"Thank-you, Lady Mother," Martin replied formally and bowed his head to her. When he raised his eyes again to her, he could no longer hold in the rejected expression on his face as he tried to give her a weak smile.

"Thanks, Mama," he whispered and squeezed her paw in his to let her know he appreciated her support.

"Your Highness?" a messenger said loudly and bowed when Martin and Valina turned in his direction. "A message from Lord Admiral Daelahn."

Martin waved the vole forward, wiping his paws off on his tunic before taking the missive from the tray and breaking the seal.

"What is it, Martin?" Valina asked quietly as Martin scanned the parchment. "Is there trouble on the seas?"

"No," Martin sighed and folded the page back up to place back on the salver.

"Take this to the King and inform him I am handling it," he instructed the messenger before turning his attention back to his mother. "There have been some reports about strange lights spotted from the rock spires just north of Vasilis along the beach. I asked the Lord Admiral to make an investigation round the rocks from the sea, but he has reported there to be nothing amiss."

"A seabird's nest perhaps," Valina said thoughtfully. "They sometimes collect trinkets that could shine off like lights if the sun were to hit them right."

"We'll see," Martin replied with a bow to take his leave. "I'll have to look around on land and see if I can find anything."

"Be careful," Valina said cautiously as the prince turned to leave. "Martin, where are you going?"

"To get cleaned up and then visit a friend."

"Martin, she is supposed to be resting this afternoon," the queen chuckled. "Malina needs to rest before the state dinner tonight."

"So Baron Ulran decided to show up finally?" Martin smirked.

"He arrived this morning," Valina said rolling her eyes. "There will be no council meeting this afternoon- your father is giving him a private audience."

"Still debating a deeper alliance with Eurus, is he?"

"Perhaps," the queen sighed. "Though I wish he wouldn't. I don't feel it is the right match for her."

"You don't like the Lord Ulrick?" Martin questioned and gave his father a weary glance as Syr Donovan tried to pull the king off the topic of the prince and direct his attention towards the other guards training below.

"I've never met Baron Ulran's son," Valina shrugged. "Ulran has never brought him to court and since the uprising in Eurus at my coronation, the king forbids me from going on progress with him there."

"And yet you still don't like him."

"I've heard he is like his grandsire," Valina whispered and moved closer to Martin so as not to be overheard. "He schemes and plots, never satisfied with his lot. Ulran has told your father Ulrick is an... ambitious mouse."

"Wonderful," Martin groaned and gave his mother a short bow. "Well, I had better go see to these supposed lights."

"Take a guard with you!" the queen called as her son trotted down the stairs, but he was all too quickly out of sight. "He's going to pretend he didn't hear that," Valina sighed knowingly to herself.

* * *

"Sands of white and sails of gold,  
Seas of blue and courage bold.  
Banners red and crowns of wealth,  
Bravery, wisdom the Seasons dealth.  
Truth and honour doth behold,  
Our fortunes in the prophets told.  
Blessings, gifts, divining guides,  
Strength in arms, defining minds.  
Forever will we stand for right,  
Scroll and Sword, Eutrusia's might.  
Ships and sails, Guard and pike,  
Protect our shores against cors-like.  
Ever will our hearts true,  
Land of plenty just for you,  
Eutrusia!  
Sing again and again.  
Eutrusia!  
Sing again and again.  
Eutrusia!  
Sing again and again…"

Onwards the mousemaid sang, striking her golden hammers against the cords of her gilded dulcimer while she sat in the warm sunshine on her chamber balcony. The sun was high in the sky and the wind twirled the smell of the sea around her, partnering with her voice and dancing a playful volta to the mystic melody of the song.

"And I thought royal maidens were supposed to rest in the afternoons?"

The princess smiled at the question and turned her soft green eyes to the balcony up and to the right of hers, brushing her curling headfur from her face and holding it against the breeze. Above her Martin was dressed in a deep green robe, leaning over his railing towards her as he wiped bath water from his ears with the towel he had casually thrown around his neck. His bright blue eyes were twinkling with mischief as he watched her and a confident smile curled the corners of his lips.

"Aren't you supposed to be training or at council?" she retorted with a giggle and stood up from her music stand to give him a playful curtsy. "Good afternoon, Martin."

"Good afternoon, Malina," Martin chuckled and tipped his head to her. "Well, training is done for the day and there doesn't seem to be a council meeting until tomorrow. Father has decided to have a private audience with Baron Ulran so thank the Seasons I don't have to be there."

"So you actually have the afternoon to _yourself_?" Malina laughed heartily knowing the full load of daily responsibilities the prince held.

"No!" Martin smirked and shook the last water droplets from his fur. "I have to do an inspection of the rock spires, but believe me when I say I'd much rather be here listening to you sing and play your dulcimer."

"Liar!" Malina challenged him. "And you shouldn't complain. At least you get to go do things. I have to stay in the palace all the time and be mind-numbing. I'm fourteen seasons old and a complete bore."

"Would you like to come?" Martin chortled and jumped onto the balcony to dangle his footpaws over the edge with practiced ease. It was often he and Malina conversed from their balconies, away from the formality of their lives where they could just be themselves.

"Tease," Malina sighed and laid on her pillowed lounge to look up at him easier. "I know you're joking."

"I am not," Martin tried to reassure her. Resting his back against the outer wall, Martin closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunshine on his face, drying his fur from his bath. "It's been seasons since we snuck off down the coast. I thought this would give us the opportunity to do so."

"Only if you let me find the treasure this time!" Malina exclaimed with a large smile, referring to the times when they were younger and Martin always insisted he be the hero who found their imaginary plunder.

"Deal," Martin said plainly and jumped from the railing onto his balcony. "I'll meet you by the old sea stair in an hour."

* * *

"You're late," Martin said mockingly as Malina trotted through the rock maze and past his perch on a high rock where he was inspecting his sword blade.

"Oh!" Malina started and wheeled around at him. "Martin- you scared me!"

"You're late," the prince repeated and sheathed his sword before leaping down from the rock. "I almost gave up on you."

"I couldn't sneak away fast enough," Malina said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Mother kept piling on more and more duties to be done…"

"Excuses, excuses," Martin laughed rolling his eyes. Nodding his head towards the slate threshold where the rock path turned to sand, he offered the princess his paw, but Malina jumped easily onto the beach. Instantly a large grin erupted on her face and she wiggled her footpaws in the warm white sands.

"You should see the look on your face," Martin chuckled at her expression. "Are you going to drop to your knees and kiss the beach?"

"I would if it would let me stay down here forever," Malina jested and gave Martin a playful swat in the shoulder. "You can't tell me you don't love the sea. I see you all the time sitting on your balcony railing looking out into it."

"You know I love it," Martin smiled at her. "How could I not? I am a Eutrusian."

Martin watched as Malina playfully twirled, letting her pale green gown coil around her legs as the sea breeze lifted the mass of her curling headfur to flutter about her body. Laughing, the princess twisted a large chunk of it and secured away from her face with heavy gold pin.

"Where are the guards?" Malina questioned when Martin gestured them up the coast to the north.

"I didn't organize any," Martin replied with a smirk and patted his sword hilt. "Don't you feel safe enough with the Captain of the Guard?"

"You're being over confident again," Malina clucked at him and tapped him on the nose as she strode passed him. "Father is always warning you about that."

"Says the one walking boldly ahead of me," Martin laughed, letting his eye rove down her long headfur to watch the gentle motion of her strides. He blinked and let his eyes widen for a moment in appreciation of the curve from her waist to her hip. She really was becoming a beautiful maid and it was little wonder she turned every males' head when she came into a room.

_Stop thinking like that_, Martin berated himself for his thoughts. What was he thinking? Malina was practically his sister. They had grown up together, they had done everything together. Though they were not blood related, she was still raised as a princess, as one of the royal family. Their parents had dismissed the council's insistence that she be simply reared as a ward, arguing that she was a gift from the Seasons and they would honour the gracious gift by making her a princess. Besides their unorthodox ties, Matthias right now was discussing her betrothal with Baron Ulran. He had to halt these growing thoughts he had of her.

"So why are we going to the rock spires anyway?" Malina asked excitedly. When she turned back to him and smiled, Martin felt his chest tighten and his pulse race.

_Stop it_, he told himself again. _Just stop it_.

"There've been reports of odd lights coming from them and I want to have a look around," Martin replied plainly and strode off after her. "It shouldn't take us more than an hour or so."

"Lights from the rock spires?" Malina questioned and raised an eyebrow.

"Strange, I know," Martin laughed and adjusted his sword at his side. "Admiral Daelahn has already patrolled it from the sea and given me his report, but I have to give mine to Father as well."

"It's a prince's job to patrol rocks?" Malina said scrunching up her nose.

"No," Martin chuckled. "It's the Captain of the Guard's duty to ensure the safety of Eutrusia."

"Lights from rocks are now going to jeopardize the peace of the land are they!" Malina snorted and held her paws wide in exasperation. "I'm glad we brought the army!

"So Father's letting you continue with your title despite… well, you know," Malina started bravely, but by the end of the sentence was biting her outspoken tongue.

"I am still the Captain of the Royal Guard for now," Martin breathed. "It's a title my grandfather Martin passed down to me when he gave me his sword. They were hoping he had passed along something else as well, but…"

"Martin, you can't blame yourself for things that are out of your control," Malina cut him off, knowing the absence of his grandfather's fabled skill weighed heavily on him. "You can't control whether or not you have this… bloodwrath… that they talk about your grandfather having.

"Frankly, I don't know why you would want to have it," Malina continued, trying to make him feel better about himself. "Why would you want a curse that makes you see nothing but red when you fight? Why would you want to be possessed by something that makes you kill beyond measure?"

"It's not a curse Malina," Martin countered. "It's a gift from the Seasons. It's to keep creatures safe…"

"But you will keep creatures safe, Martin," Malina sighed. "I've seen you train. Even Syr Donovan is in awe at your abilities. There isn't a beast in Eutrusia that can best you in the tilt yard."

"Ah, but Malina our enemies don't come from Eutrusia and we don't fight on a tilt yard," Martin relented and shook his head. "Enough babble about me, let's talk about something else."

"Like what?" Malina chuckled. "My embroidery? My dulcimer?"

"Anything as long as it doesn't involve me and what I'm supposed to be doing."

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW**


	6. Fortunes Foretold

**Thanks to Shadowed One for reviewing the last chapter and sorry to all that this has taken so long to be updated. I promise I will get some more of it up soon.**

**You may notice a couple references to some Redwallian islands known to be in the southern waters. ;) **

* * *

**Chapter 5- Fortunes Foretold**

"'Ere be ta rocks!" a lanky stoat hollered from the quarterdeck of the small galley as they rode high on the waves to the southwest of the Aurelius. Through his spyglass, the corsair could see the mighty city, but he had no intentions of getting any closer. If he could see them, surely the vigilant Eutrusian watchbeast would eventually spy the gray-coloured ship and the last thing the stoat wanted was the Royal Fleet on his stern. Besides, they were not after the heavily guarded spoils of the south; instead they were interested in the exchange of a much smaller and less guarded prize.

"Charbak- git yar paws up ta mast an' see if you c'n see where the shiners are placed!" the commander barked at a grey-furred ferret. "Cap'n Talt said t'ey be 'ere."

"Aight, Bladesnout," Charbak snipped and gripped the riggings of the main mast to start his ascent. "I din't know why Cap'n Talt jis din't take ta gems 'imself."

"Cap'n Talt wen' back ta Wrekhip Isle ta git another crew," Bladesnout chirped and kicked at the ferret's tail. "'Ee gonna go afta more o' ta gems afore ta any o'her beast finds out 'bout 'em. It be all fer one's self now. T'ey say ta ratlord be dead."

"Ten wha do it matter?" Charbak argued as he began to climb. "If 'ee dead ten 'ee no gonna take 'em."

"T'ey say 'ee 'ad a ratling. Gulls 'n petrels be squawking 'bout a new Lord o' Clapsbay."

"So? 'Gardless, ta ratlord be in ta Eastern Sea; no concern o' us."

"Cap'n Talt wants ta keep 'im 'ere too! If 'ee tink tat ta Cap'n be a loyal beast ta 'im, 'ee won push fer more control o' ta west. Tat's why wez needing ta git ta jewels 'n meet 'im at Irgash: Ta makes 'im tink we be loyal in 'is waters."

"'Gain, we be in ta Western Sea; tis not 'is sea…"

"Ta Lord o' Clapsbay be controllin' e'ery sea!" Bladesnout snarled. "W'ere 'ee c'nt be, 'ee has ta Fates' eyes ta see fer him."

"'Eems like eh lot o' rotten cuttlefish ta me," Charbak snipped, clambering up the post to the boom and squinting his watery eyes at the rock cliffs.

"C'n ya see it, yet?" Bladesnout called from the deck. "Tis ta light 'ere?"

"Naw," the ferret replied. "Notta sight o' it. Mayhap eh mite clos'r."

"Git yar hide up ta top yard spar!" Bladesnout shouted. "'N din't ya be comin' down 'til ya see ta flicker!

"Hagtooth, Gipson!" the stoat continued as he shouted orders to the rest of the crew. "Rally ta crew- pull ta sails up 'n whip ta slaves 'n git us round ta the spires wid all speed!"

* * *

The two royal mice walked down the beach talking of everything and nothing at the same time, completely at ease in each other's company. Malina would laugh at Martin's jests, constantly brushing her headfur from her face as the warm southern wind whipped along the shoreline, causing her gown skirts to billow from the steady gusts while the sands twirled around them. Martin simply smiled. There was something about being alone with Malina that made him feel like nothing else mattered.

"Oh, the sand is too hot!" Malina giggled and danced on her footpaws to the waterline. Once her footpaws touch the wet sands and the waves lapped up over them, the princess gave a visible sigh of relief.

"The salt is going to ruin that dress," Martin chuckled as the waves rolled up over her ankles and soaking the gown's satin hem and upwards into the rich brocade. "Mother will just admonish you for that."

"I don't care," Malina laughed. "The sand is too hot for my paws. Besides, it's your fault for organizing an expedition at high sun!"

"You didn't have to come."

"And let you have all the fun? Never!" she scoffed and waved her jewelled paw in the air. "Seriously Martin- how are your paws not on fire!"

"I don't think about it!" the prince shrugged. "I just ignore it, I suppose."

"You just don't feel pain," Malina mocked and rolled her green eyes at him. "You never have."

"I just have a high tolerance for it," Martin replied. "Even when I fell from the scout tower and broke my arm, it didn't really hurt that much."

"You shouldn't have been climbing that thing anyways. I swear Mother still hasn't forgiven Father for not watching you closer…"

"He was busy talking with Admiral Daelahn. He had just been invested to the position and Father was making sure everything was running smoothly…"

"So you took it upon yourself to climb the bay's watch tower?"

"I wanted to see the ships," Martin chuckled at the memory of his own impatience. "_Mawredd_ was just launched. I wanted to see our flagship. I didn't think they were going to blow the bay-horn in my face."

"They probably weren't expecting to have the Etifedd climbing up _the side_ of the tower, either!" Malina grinned back at him. "Really Martin, you are too brave for your own good sometimes."

"I believe Father called it foolish."

"And Mother says your fearless," she retorted. "I guess it comes down to what you think of yourself since we all have different opinions."

Before the prince could answer a loud rumble came from his stomach and he smirked at the timing of its interruption. Slapping a paw to his dark green tunic, Martin gave Malina a wink.

"Time for a snack."

"So it would seem," Malina mused and accepted Martin's outstretched paw to guide her back onto the sands. "Did you… oh!"

"Spice cake, oranges and peach cordial," Martin rhymed off as he pulled out the contents of the small satchel he had slung across his upper body. Handing Malina the thin flask and small oranges, Martin untied the twine holding the wrapper around the petite loaf. "I had a feeling we would get hungry."

"You mean _you_ would get hungry!" the princess jested and bit into the offered spice cake, relishing the tingle of cinnamon and clove on her tongue mixed with the sweet cane frosting coating the outside of the pastry.

"Alright, so I'm starving," Martin confessed and took the flask back from Malina to take a drink. Pointing to the bend in the coastline ahead of them, he took a bite of the cake and added, "Come on. Let's keep moving. We aren't far from the spires now."

One look at him and Malina burst into laughter. "Martin- the frosting!"

"What?" the prince chuckled and wiped his paw over his snout to reveal a smear of white icing on the tip of his nose.

"Some manners, Your Highness!" Malina giggled and mockingly rolled her eyes at him. "Fancy a prince of the realm, a captain of the king's own guard not knowing his table manners!"

"I didn't know we were at a table," Martin said while trying to hide his smirk. "Last I checked we were walking by the sea."

Shaking his head at his own scheme, Martin looked at Malina slyly. "Fancy a princess of Eutrusia not knowing enough to stay out of the water…"

"Oh, Martin I only got my hem wet… oh wait. No! Martin I know that look in your eye… Martin, no!" Malina squealed and dropped her food, picking up her long skirts and jumped away from the lunging prince.

"Aha! Too slow, Martin!"

"If I catch you Malina, you're going for a swim!"

"Race you to the rock spires!" Malina called the challenge over her shoulder as she sprinted down the sands. She loved to run. Her speed was the one thing she truly prided herself on, though it was not a very ladylike quality. She was supposed to be poised and refined, not flighty and erratic. Running was a peasants' mannerism, her father would say, definitely not something befitting a princess.

Seeing the tall rocks spiking up out of the sea, Malina turned to yell her victory to Martin, but when she rounded the bend and saw a small ship beached on the shoreline. Malina's eyes went wide as she looked at the sea hardened vessel with its black sails and dull gray haul. A scream was just rising in the mousemaid's throat when Martin caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, flattening them against the rock face of the coast. Before Malina could utter a sound, Martin clapped a paw over her mouth.

"Don't make a sound," the prince breathed as he rested his face against her curling headfur. "Malina, just be quiet. We don't know where they are…"

Sensing the urgency of his voice, she pushed against his strong chest and let him guide her backwards. The fur on the back of her neck was standing on end and Malina wasn't sure if she could her footpaws walking towards them in the sand or if it was simply her own pulse pounding in her ears. Corsairs. There was a corsair ship on the coast and they were alone with no guards, no protection save Martin's sword.

Feeling her start to panic, Martin held her tighter to him. Her body was trembling and her paws cold as she clung to his arm.

"Malina, stay calm," Martin hissed in her ear, his own straining against the noise of the sea for some sort of sound that would indicate the scums location.

"Martin," Malina gasped under her breath. "Martin, they're, they're..."

"Corsairs," Martin whispered. "Malina, hush…"

"Charbak," a snarling voice grumbled. "'Ere'd ya say ya saw ta shiners?"

"Round ta bend, Bladesnout. Iz only told ya 'ive times."

"Ain't 'ere suppose ta be some sort o' cave er someting? Bladesnout, din't Cap'n Talt say someit 'bout tat?"

"Aye, Hagtooth. Follow ta shiners 'ere 'neath be grasses. 'Hind ta grasses be eh crevice. Inna crevice be ta chest."

Martin continued to back Malina up until he felt himself come up against the rock face. He closed his eyes in dreading recognition of the crunching sound his footpaw made when he stepped backwards. Sea grass. The rats were headed straight for them. Martin pulled Malina around his body and stepped boldly in front of her, drawing his sword and holding it in front of him with both paws.

"Malina, when I tell you to run, you run. Understand?" Martin said sharply, not worrying about the volume of his voice any longer when the others were so near. There was no use trying to hide now.

"Martin, I'm not leaving you…" Malina begun to protest before three vermin in waterlogged tatters came around the bend and started at the mice's presence.

"Hey Bladesnout, looks wha we 'ave 'ere!" Hagtooth jeered at the stoat. "A pair o' mice tinkin' o' stealin' ta Cap'n's treasure!"

"Looks like pair o' nobles ta way 'eir dressed," Charbak snickered and pointed a claw at Martin. "Tinkin' o' gettin' eh mo'ent alone wid yar sweet'eart?"

"Not likely," Martin said boldly, pushing Malina further behind his back. "You shouldn't be on these shores vermin."

"It be yas 'ho shouldna be here, mouse," Bladesnout laughed at the bold creature before him.

"You corsairs know better than to come onto Eutrusian lands," Martin said plainly, ushering Malina away from the rock face and giving her a free path to run south. "You will die for your disobedience."

"'Ere tat? Wez be deadbeasts!" Hagtooth chuckled hysterically. "'N I 'pose ya be ta beast ta kill us?"

"I might be."

As Martin and Malina sidestepped carefully away from the rock cliff, a dark line caught Bladesnout's eye; a small fissure in the rock with a widening base.

"'Isten, mouse," the stoat commander said plainly. "Iz din't 'ave ta time ta deal wid heroics. Jus' put up ya sword 'n walk-aways. Leave ta blade… 'n ta maid. Eh pretty 'un like 'er bring eh 'efty ransom!"

"No," Martin said coldly tightening his hold on his sword. He could feel his blood pumping quickly through his veins and his hackles rising. This was leading to a fight. His first fight against vermin and oddly, the prince wasn't afraid; he was excited.

"Ten we kill ya 'n ten take ta sword 'n ta maid," Charbak chortled and drew his cutlass. "Tis stupid ta be brave against ba' odds, mouse."

"I'm more than a match for the three of you," Martin sneered and let his left paw loosen on the handle to guide Malina further away from him and further south, making himself a direct blockage against their attack on her retreat. Confidently, he picked up a fighter's stance and let his blade twist back on his wrist axis with practiced ease. His whole body was tingling with anticipation and conviction like he had fought vermin a hundred times before. What was happening to him?

"Ha!" Hagtooth laughed and slapped the Bladesnout on the back. "'Ee tinks 'hers jus' ta three o' us!"

The stoat gave a little snicker before shouting over his shoulder and a score of vermin filtered forward from around the rock face. Martin bared his teeth. They were all armed with sabres, tridents and whips. At the sound of a gasp behind him, Martin looked back at Malina and saw her eyes widening with fear and her bottom lip giving a little quiver. Seeing him watching her, Malina clutched at his left arm with her paws.

"Martin, we have to run," Malina whispered, pulling on his arm. "Martin, there's too many of them…"

But Martin had already turned his attention back to the group before them, assessing the beasts and picking out the weaker ones. They were armed, but either portly or underfed. Their clothes were in tatters meaning they were seasoned seabeasts, but by the spills and stains on their shirts, they all enjoyed too much wine and ale. In their state, they wouldn't be quick, but with their numbers, they would surely catch the pair of them if they tried to make a run for it.

At once, Martin begun making calculations in his mind; Malina was a faster runner than he was. She could get away if he gave her some time. If he stayed and fought, she may make it back to the palace, or at least close enough that she could raise an alarm. The guards could storm the beach and the Admiral would catch the corsairs on the seas if they broke away. He had been unwise in not bringing a guard with them; the guard that as he stared down danger was waiting patiently for him in the courtyard to accompany him on this mission. Had he brought them, they would already have engaged them and he could ensure Malina's safety. As it was, all he could guarantee was a fight ahead, a good fifty pace head start for Malina and an uncertain outcome.

"Wha d'ya tink o' your chances now, mouse?" Bladesnout sneered at him. "Still tink yas o' match fer us?"

"More than a match," Martin laughed, confident now his time had come.

Infuriated at the mouse's bravery, Bladesnout drew his rapier and whip, and signalled the horde to advance on Martin.

"Run, Malina!" Martin yelled as he pushed her away from him and southward towards the palace. Malina stumbled backward a few steps before stopping.

"Martin, I can't leave you!" She cried as the first of the vermin charged at the prince. "Martin!"

"Malina, go!" Martin yelled at her again as he laid a rat low with a swift thrust of his sword. "Get out of here, raise the guard!"

With panic weighing down her footpaws, Malina turned to run away from the advancing horde when she was grabbed roughly by her headfur and pulled backwards onto her bottom. Looking up she saw the ferret they had called Charbak raise his cutlass high in the air ready to strike down on her. Malina covered her head with her paws and screamed.

Martin blocked a trident thrust and spun under and into a weasel, hammering an elbow into his snout to stun him before kicking his knee backwards with a sickening crunch. He had just enough time to free his sword from the howling vermin's weapon when a cutlass whipped downwards towards his shoulder. Dodging the strike, the prince twisted to the left and brought his sword down on the rat's exposed legs, cutting him deeply across the back of his knee, slicing tendons with a back-pawed slash.

It was then he heard Malina scream. Turning slightly, he saw the gray-furred ferret raise his blade above his head and pose for the strike. Instantly, a burning sensation filled his eyes as a hatred he had never experienced gripped his chest and clutched his paws tighter on his sword.

"Malina, no!" Martin yelled and sprinted from the crew, blocking Charbak's downward chop with his sword a hairsbreadth from the princess's head. With a great strength he didn't know he possessed, Martin pushed the ferret backwards into the advancing horde and hauled Malina to her footpaws.

"Run!" He commanded her through gritted teeth as he held her strongly by the arm. His voice sounded strange to him. It was deeper and raspier. Everything around him seemed clearer, the images crisper; everything had an odd red tinge to it.

Malina looked him in awe. Something about him had changed; his expression was stronger, more dangerous, and his eyes a bright red colour, the colour of blood. The eyes of a killer. His voice sounded different and there was strength in his paw as he held her that hadn't been there before. He was holding her arm so tightly she knew she would have a bruise, yet his knuckles weren't even white from the strain of his hold. It was like he wasn't even trying.

"Malina, run," Martin commended again, tossing her effortlessly down the beach towards the palace. "Run and don't look back."

"Martin…"

"Go!" He yelled again, whirling his sword aloft and bring it down to onto the arm of a stoat advancing on him. Malina's eyes went wide and her breath caught in her throat as she watched the stoat's arm cleave off under Martin's blade and him swinging his blade low to cut out the stoat's legs. Turning on his next opponent, Martin speedily ran the corsair through and moved on to the next approaching vermin.

Martin's startled growl brought her out of her trace as a sabre sliced through his tunic and cut his unprotected body. The sound of his snarling gasp forced her to comprehend the reality before her. This was not the tilt ground. The vermin were not Royal Guards there to simply disarm and practice drills. No, these creatures were there to kill and Martin was their target. He was holding his own, but for how long? She had to get help for him. Turning on her heels Malina darted down the beach towards Vasilis as fast as her footpaws would take her, her ears echoing the sound of ringing metal and Martin's battle cry.

* * *

Matthias walked quickly through the palace courtyard on his way back from meeting with Baron Ulran in his state rooms. They had been discussing Malina's potential betrothal to the baron's son and the deal was all but signed pending Ulran's approval of her after the state feast.

Working his way across the white marbled stones, a gathering of guards lounging idly in the shade of the wall caught his eye. It was uncharacteristic of any Royal Guards to loiter about the outside of the palace or any Aurelian anywhere for that matter when it was high sun. Heat stroke would quickly set in to any unsheltered beast, let alone a creature dressed in the regalia of the Royal Guard.

"Lieutenant!" the king called out in his approach to a blue-capped squirrel. "Lieutenant Olan, what is the meaning your assemblage?"

"Majesty," the squirrel said sincerely with a bow. "We are waiting for His Highness, Prince Martin, to make a patrol of the rock spires, sire."

"He hasn't done that yet!" Matthias gaped. "He should have seen to that an hour ago. The feast will begin shortly…"

"My Lord," Valina called as she hastily descended the stairs leading from the Grand Gallery to the courtyard. "Matthias, have you seen Malina? She's all but disappeared."

"No, my queen," Matthias replied abruptly. "And where is that son of yours? He's had these poor creatures waiting for him in the sun for hours now."

"Martin?" Valina said with a puzzled look. "Is he not in his chambers?"

"Er, no, Your Majesty," Lieutenant Olan offered up at a glance from the king. "We had a herald check on him for us. When they returned saying he was not there, we assumed the prince was with one of Your Majesties and so didn't press the issue."

"Where in the name of the…"

"Your Majesty!" a watchbeast shouted from the west tower overlooking the coast. "My Lord- there's a creature running the shoreline!"

Matthias pushed himself through Valina's entourage and trotted up the stone steps to the ramparts and climbed the twisting stairs of the tower.

"Show me," the king said sharply and the watcher pulled a spyglass to full length and directed Matthias' gaze to the place he had spotted the figure. It was still far away and hard to make out despite the magnification, but the king's heart jumped to his throat when he recognized the long formal gown and bouncing dark curls on the beast's head.

"Great Seasons, Malina," he whispered and tossed the mirror cylinder back at the watchbeast, bellowing orders as he descended the steps.

"Guards! To arms! To the shore- NOW!"

* * *

Loukin was the first to reach her. Malina collapsed in the otter's paws, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her legs were quaking from exertion and her eyes still wide with fear as she tried to pull the solider down the beach in her muted state.

"Princess Malina," Loukin said quickly. "What is the matter, your Highness?"

Unable to use her voice for her gasping breaths, Malina shook her head and continued to pull the guard forward.

"Malina!" Matthias shouted as he appeared from around the rock maze of the sea stair, a contingent of Royal Guards following in his wake. "Malina what are you doing out here?"

"Corsairs!" Malina finally blurted out. "By the tall rocks. Martin…"

"Malina, where is Martin?" Matthias said sternly and clasped her elbows tightly in his fear for his son's life. "Where is Martin, Malina?"

"Fighting them!" she gasped out, feeling tears starting to streak her on her cheeks as her stress began to escape her body. "Father, he's fighting them! He wouldn't leave… he's protecting me…"

"All of you follow me!" Matthias yelled, drawing his own sword and pointing down the beach. Pushing Malina roughly towards the palace he yelled over his shoulder, "Get back into the palace Malina and stay there!"

* * *

**Well, that's it for chapter 5 and if you don't mind... please review!**


	7. Sands and Swords

**Thanks to Shadowed One for reviewing the last chapter. And thanks for the catch- I missed that one in editing. It's been changed now ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 6- Sands and Swords**

The cries and the rings of metal echoed off the cliff rocks, the white sands of the beach turned up like pockets of dark coves and ribbons of pink and red streaming down to the sea. The air was rank with fear, sweat and blood as the corsairs fought the mouse; desperately trying to use their numbers to their advantage, but to no avail.

It was clear to any of them he was trained with a blade, his movements dictated as much, but the speed of his actions, the force of his strikes; his relentless assault on them as he continually battered them down spoke of a different kind of talent. One not learned. One inherited from birth. This one was a true warrior born.

"Circle 'im round!" Bladesnout snapped and rallied the ten remaining beasts still standing to his order. "Hagtooth- use yar bola!"

The response the stoat received was the sound of blood gurgling in the rat's sliced throat before he dropped forward on the sands with the rest of his slain shipmates.

Martin was breathing heavily with his sword held before him and his red eyes watching the every move of his opponents, ready for their next attack. His tunic was ripped, left sleeve hanging by bare threads at the shoulder seam and sword arm was cut deeply in a spiralled gash from a whip which had wound its coils around his flesh before he had killed its user. Bravely, he stood before his foes, not backing down despite his wounds and sense that they had lost their will to fight along with their comrades lives. They would probably run if he told them to; they would probably never set paws on Eutrusia's soils again, but none of that matter. He was, as he father had told him all those years again when he first acknowledged his grandfather's title, unable to stand down, unable to pull back. He had to protect.

"Martin!" a voice yelled from down the beach. "Martin, fall back!"

"Hellsgates!" Bladesnout cursed at the sight of a contingent of Royal Guard storming the beach towards them. "Back ta t'ship ya fleabags! Ta be ta Guard!"

The corsairs needed no further encouragement. Back to their vessel they darted, taking care to kick up extra paws of sand at the mouse pursing closely behind them. Once they reached the bend, Bladesnout veered to the right and slide to a stop at the break in the rocks. Martin was just pulling his sword out of a fleeing weasel's back when he saw the stoat haul out a small chest from the crevice.

"Martin- let him go!" Matthias shouted as the Eutrusians closed the gap on the scene and they watched Martin start to advance on the stoat. Even from the rear view, Matthias could see the blood from Martin's wounds and the sand on his fur where he had fallen and picked himself up again. The king called out again, but his cries were falling on deaf ears; Martin wasn't listening to the sounds of the conscious world.

"Lemme pass, mouse," Bladesnout cackled and drew his cutlass. "Lemme pass 'n I be lettin' ya live."

"No," Martin sneered and blocked the stoat's retreat with his body, his red eyes burning through the air at his enemy. "You're not going anywhere save Hellsgates."

"Yar choice," Bladesnout smirked wickedly and charged forward at the prince, swinging the small chest by its handle into the mouse's body and deflecting the swipe of Martin's sword. Martin leapt sideways to make room to strike back, but as he did, Bladesnout followed through with his cutlass aimed at the mouse's unprotected chest.

Martin's reactions were quick, but not without consequence. Blocking the stab, Martin pushed the cutlass down with his sword and towards his brace leg. The prince snarled as the sharp edge connected with his thigh, slicing his tunic and cutting him deeply though his flesh. He knew it hurt; he knew it stung, yet he couldn't _feel_ it. All he could feel was the burning desire to kill, to rid his lands of the filth washed in with the tide.

Twisting sideways, he brought his sword up in a high arch, whirling it once above his head before striking downwards with a backpawed slash to cut the retreating stoat across the back. Bladesnout cried out in pain and fell forward into the sands, clawing his way forward as Martin stabbed down into the sands furiously with his blade. The stoat rolled onto his back away from the tip and kicked out Martin's footpaws, knocking him backwards and leaping onto the prince.

"Martin!" Matthias yelled, calling the Guard to action. "Protect the Etifedd!"

Bladesnout growled and landed hard punches to Martin's unprotected head, breaking the skin at his temple and bloodying his nose. The prince kicked upwards with all four, sending the corsair off him to the left and grasping his fallen sword in his right paw, Martin swung the long blade across his body at the stoat's neck in a final blow.

"Your Highness!" a guard cried as Martin dug his bloodied sword into the sands and hauled himself to his footpaws, staggering slightly from his wounds, but not giving in to their pain or his obvious exhaustion. "Your Highness, it's over, come back…"

"It's not over!" Martin growled and gnashed his teeth at the mouse, sneering and staring at the beasts with his red eyes. Pointing his blade to the small galley the corsairs were hurriedly making ready to cast off, he added with a sneer, "There's more."

"Martin, the fight is won…" Matthias started strongly, trying to counter his son's wrath. Seeing the dangerous gleam in Martin's eyes, the king was taken aback and unable to finish his sentence. Gawking at the other guards briefly, he could tell they were all thinking the same thing; bloodwrath. Martin had bloodwrath.

"But the battle is not over!" the prince exclaimed and struck his sword against the sabre of fallen beast to ring the sound of metal throughout the air. "Guards, forward! _Ymlaen_!"

"Martin!" Matthias cried as the Guard charged forward with their prince, their captain, towards the ship. Through the shallows they sped, leaping waves and clamouring up the riggings of the galley, fighting vermin and cutting pulleys and ropes to hinder the vessel's creaking retreat. The king watched as Martin continued to fight, calling orders and whirling his broad sword aloft in a display of strength and might.

"_Eutrusia!_" Martin roared as they battled on the decking, swinging his blade viciously at any vermin that came within his sword's long reach. Bulling his body into the chest of a rat to knock it over, Martin snapped its neck with a kick to the head, before advancing down the vessel to the main hatch. Without hesitation the mouse, slide down the ladder and into the holds of the ship.

"Your Highness!" Loukin exclaimed and threw a snivelling weasel overboard into the waters. "Olan- the prince!"

"Ruddy mouse," the squirrel lieutenant snarled. "He's going to get himself killed!"

An array of gasps and cries rang up from the ship's holds and the tremendous sounds of steel hammering steel.

"Loukin! Kennard!" Olan shouted over the melee of battle. "Get below and see what the lad's gotten into!"

Once the guards jumped into the blackness beneath the deck, Olan called commands to the remaining soldiers and rallied them on to finish the corsairs off. As the last of the vermin fell lifeless from a spear thrust, the lieutenant felt a weak tug on his tunic. Wheeling around, Olan saw the half-starved form of a vole blinking at him in the bright light.

"Is it alright to come out?" the creature asked in a small raspy voice that hadn't tasted water in its tongue's recent memory. "Are they… dead?"

"Yes, it's safe now," Olan said quickly and knelt down to help pull the feeble beast out of the ship's holds. The lieutenant hauled four more beasts to the deck before Kennard appeared, then a score of beasts later, Loukin.

"Where's the prince?" Olan demanded once the otter was firmly back on the deck, pulling more oarslaves from the dark to the light.

"He's making sure there are any vermin hiding below," Loukin replied. "Slew the slave master with one strike he did, and broke each of these creatures chains himself with his sword."

"Is he under control?" Olan pressed. "Loukin, you're supposed to be a sidebeast…"

Before the otter could respond, the last of the oarbeasts were lifted from the hatch and Martin appeared on the ladder covered from ear to tail in water, blood and sand. His expression was hard and his eyes still burning with fury as he struggled to keep his bearings.

"Your Highness?" Olan questioned as Martin shuffled to the railing, sheathing his sword and gripping the wood tight in attempt to stay upright. "Prince Martin?"

Martin couldn't answer; pain was threatening to flood his senses, but his bloodwrath pushed to the back of his mind, unwilling to let go of the grasp it held on the prince's body, on his mind. The mouse swayed on the spot, fighting the urge to continue his barrage of attacks on the Royal Guards. He knew they were his soldiers, his fighters, but the red in his eyes seared with the lust for more blood. He didn't trust himself; he had to get off the ship and away from them. Gritting his teeth against his inward battle, Martin half stumbled, half limped across the wooden planks to the opening in the railing, rappelling down into the water.

"Loukin- after him!" Olan commanded and motioned for the other guards to tend to the slaves. "The king is down there!"

In an instant the otter was into the water, catching up to the prince just as Martin staggered on the shore.

"Your Highness…" Loukin started and moved swiftly to the royal mouse's side to glance into his eyes. They were still red. "Prince Martin, the corsairs are dead. You must calm your, your wrath!"

Martin just shook his head and barred his teeth at the guard, warning him not to come too close. Before him Matthias stood with two personal guardbeasts, his sword sheathed as he awaited the approach of his son.

"You must calm yourself before you see the king," Loukin said strongly and grasped Martin's sword arm tightly. "Your Highness…"

Martin's reaction was quicker than Loukin ever expected. He just had time to unsheathe his dirk straight upwards as Martin's dagger struck the metal at the otter's throat.

"Martin!" Matthias exclaimed, trotting forward over the sands towards the prince. "Martin, enough!"

"No, Your Majesty!" his defender called and sprinted forward in front of the king. "Don't go near him- he's mad…"

"He's my son!" Matthias snapped and roughly pushed the mouse aside. "He is not _mad!_"

Walking swiftly over the beach, Matthias stopped when he was three strides away from his bloodied son and the gaping otter. Holding his paws wide, the king banished his own fear of Martin's reaction to him and tried to give a comforting smile.

"Come here, Martin," Matthias said softly. "Leave the guard alone. Come here, son."

Martin did not turn his gaze, but flicked an ear at the familiar voice. It wasn't much of a reaction, but it was still an acknowledgement. Matthias watched as Loukin swallowed a large lump in his throat. The otter was probably counting the seconds he had left in his life.

"Martin, it's time to go home now, son," Matthias pressed. "It's time to go home."

This time Martin's expression softened slightly and he glanced sideways at the king.

"That's it, Marty," Matthias breathed when his son turned his whole head to look at his father with his burning eyes. "The corsairs are all dead, Marty. Let the guard be and let's go home to the palace. To Vasilis. To your mother. To Malina."

"Malina?" Martin whispered and lowered his dagger from the otter's dirk; the blade hissing in protest as it ran the length of the steel. "Malina ran. She had to run so I could protect her. So she could be safe…"

"Yes, Marty," Matthias replied. "Malina is safe. Let's go home and you can see for yourself."

Martin nodded and tried to take a step forward, but his mind could not ignore his battered body any longer and he went down on a knee, grimacing in pain as his wounds screamed protests from their assault.

"Martin!" Matthias yelled and bounded the three strides to his son. Without fear, the king knelt before the bloodied mouse and lifted his chin. "Marty, you need help…"

"Da?" Martin said softly blinking his red eyes furiously as if his lids would wipe the fiery colour from them. "Da, why… Da, it hurts."

"I know, Marty," Matthias breathed and pulled his injured son close to his chest. "That's why we have to go back to the palace- we need to get you looked after."

Martin responded by exhaling a shuddering sigh before groaning and gasping as Matthias helped him to his footpaws. The prince's eyes were still tingeing red, but they were not bright. Slowly, Martin's bloodwrath was leaving him; they could only hope to get him back to the palace before it left him completely and he could feel his wounds fully. They may not be able to get him back if that happened.

"All of you back to the palace!" Matthias roared, slipping under Martin's arm to support him as they strode forward back down the beach. "Loukin- get that chest the stoat ran for. Kennard- take the oarslaves back to Aurelius and see they're looked after and Lieutenant Olan- see that ship is searched for missives, then burn it; along with the bodies."

"Yes, Majesty," they replied in unison, each of them going about their tasks while a handful of guards encircled the king and the prince, to protect them against further danger while they made their way sorely back to the palace.

* * *

The sun was setting when the party made it back to the palace. They could hear the shouts from the walls as the watchbeasts announced their arrival and a cavalcade of healers met them at the base of the sea stair.

"Your Majesty!" the senior healer cried when he saw Martin's wounds and Matthias' blood soaked tunic as the prince leaned further and further onto him for support. "The Etifedd…"

"Is injured you daft beast!" Matthias snipped and eyed them crossly. "Up to his chambers to treat him immediately."

"But the infirmary is ready to receive him, my liege."

"No- his private chambers. I do not want him disturbed in a common infirmary."

"As you wish Majesty…"

"Marty?" Matthias said softly and gave his son's paw a reassuring squeeze. "We're home, Marty. Everything is going to be alright."

"Your Majesty, the Gallery is teaming with creatures awaiting your return. You will be hard pressed to get him through quickly."

"Guards!" the king bellowed and motioned them forward. "Circle Prince Martin and the healers. Do not let any beast stand in your way. Get him to his chambers with all speed."

Gaining a nod from each of their grim faces, Matthias turned his attention back to his son.

"Martin, can you walk with the healers and the guards, son?" Matthias whispered to him.

"Yes, Da," Martin replied mechanically and made an effort to pull himself upright. "Where're you goin', Da?"

Matthias smiled at Martin's informal speech. His son had given up calling him Da by the time he hit fourteen seasons, though it seemed he reverted back to anything familiar and a comfort in his pain.

"I'm going to go first and try to get their attention away from the doors so you can slip past quicker," Matthias said plainly gave Martin an encouraging wink.

Martin gave the barest of nods and wavered on his footpaws. The red was almost completely out of his eyes now and his brow was furrowed in pain. He had lost a lot of blood already and it was only by luck the salt water and sand had helped to clean and clot the flow enough to keep him from bleeding out. Turning on his heel, Matthias ascended the stairs, stopping midflight and turning back to the group assembling around the injured mouse.

"Martin," Matthias said strongly and waited for his son to look weakly up at him. "Martin, I'm proud of you. I'm proud of my brave son."

* * *

Malina was pacing the floor of her chambers when she heard the calls and shouted orders from the guards. Her own pawmaids jumped at the sound, but Malina picked up the skirts of her gown she ran towards the noises coming from hallway outside her room.

Throwing her chamber door open, she saw Martin as he limped by her, covered from ear to tail tip in sand and blood, surrounded by guards and healers. She covered her mouth with her paws before she screamed, but not until a loud gasp escaped her throat. At that sound, Martin looked up at her, his still red eyes meeting her soft green ones.

"Malina…" he breathed and held out a bloodied paw to her, but the soldiers herded him forward towards his chamber followed by half a dozen healers.

Malina strode off to follow him, desperate to speak to him. Naively, she wanted to make sure he was alright, that his injuries were not too grievous. However, her advancement was cut short at the sight of Valina trotting down the stairs from the royal chambers, anxiously wringing her paws and uttering a sorrowful cry when she saw the wounded creature that was her son.

Before the queen could emit another sound, the large door to the prince's chambers slammed shut, leaving to two mousemaids alone in the hallway with their fears and anxiety, and a trail of blood.

"Oh, Mother!" Malina began as she moved to stand beside Valina. "Mother- did you see him…"

"Have they attended him yet?" a loud voice resonated from down the hallway where Matthias was striding purposefully towards them, his task of distracting the nobles and posting a guard at the entrance to the west wing completed. "Are the healers working on Martin yet?"

"He just got here," Valina gasped out and held out her paws to her husband. "Matthias- our son!"

"Seasons thank his gifts," Matthias replied slowly and let a slight smile curl his lips. "All of them."

"Matthias, what are you talking about?" Valina gaped at the grin on the king's face and pointed an angry paw to the white marbled floor smeared with crimson streaks. "Why are you smiling- did you not see all the blood? _Martin's_ blood!"

"Yes," Matthias smirked boldly and tapped his tunic where it was still drenched in red. "All saw his blood. _All of his blood_."

"Matthias…"

"He has bloodwrath, Valina," Matthias interrupted. "Our son has the gift from your house.

"Apparently he just needed to taste some vermin blood," Matthias added with a wink. "Slew nigh a score of corsairs on his own, in his first battle. You should see his eyes. Never saw redder ones, even on your father. He has your gift, Valina. He has the gift from your house!"

"Matthias he is injured!" Valina yelled, spinning away from his hold. "My son is injured…"

"He will live," the king said confidently. "He has the gift of my family as well- we cannot be killed by a vermin blade."

"Martin's hurt!" Malina cried, unable to keep her tongue quiet any longer in the emotion of the moment. "He's covered in blood…"

"Not all his," Matthias retorted. "He made sure the corsairs bled as well, Malina- don't you worry about that!

"We must plan a feast," Matthias continued and smiled at his wife. "This is a great celebration…"

"Matthias, this is no cause for merriment!" Valina snapped defiantly. "Martin's injured, he's in pain. My lord, please…"

"Valina, he will heal," the king tried to reason. "Valina, don't you see? Martin has twin blessing- just as prophesy foretold. If his portion has come to pass then we need not worry of the rest."

Valina just shook her head and allowed the regal mouse to lead her away from the hallway and up to their private chambers.

Malina stood alone and watched them go. Behind her, she could hear the whispers of her own pawmaids as she stared at Martin's closed doorway. She cringed when she heard him yell in pain and sniffed back a tear before her senior servant came forward and clasped her paws tightly, gently leading her back to her chambers and away from the sounds as the healers worked away on their prince and his wounds.

* * *

**If you read it, please review it!**


	8. Secrets

**Thanks to Shadowed One for the review. Yes, this version is a little more descriptive of a lot of things that weren't explained well in ****_Elderstar (hence the rewrite). _**

**So. Moving forward.**

* * *

**Chapter 7-Secrets**

Martin groaned long and low as a cold cloth was placed on his throbbing forehead. Gingerly, the prince stirred and his senses began to register the world around him. The smell of herbs and ointments filled his nostrils and the sound of the sea below waved into his hearing as if the waters were rolling into his very ears, but more significantly, his whole body felt like it was a freshly beaten hearth rug.

Uttering a slight moan, Martin opened his eyes gradually and blinked at the rays of light shining in on him from his open balcony. He tried to raise his right paw to shield his eyes, but it was tightly bound to his chest. A flicker of panic washed over him as Martin tried to raise his paw again, fighting against the bonds and letting his lungs take quicker breaths in attempt to relieve his stress.

"Shh, Martin," Valina cooed and laid a gentle paw on her son's cheek. "Relax, Martin. Just keep still."

"My arm," Martin gasped hoarsely and clicked his tongue against the parched sides of his mouth. "Mama, my arm…"

"… Is bound to you to stop you from using it," Valina answered gently and gave him a smile. "You have quite the cut on it and the healers are worried the thread won't hold if you move it too much."

"Water?" the queen asked when the prince stopped struggling and relaxed into his pillows again. At Martin's nod, she rose from her seat and walked to the sideboard, pouring a beaker of spring water and adding a spoon of honey and a squeeze of a fresh orange wedge. After a few swirls of the silver utensil, the queen placed it back on the tray and went back to her son's bedside.

"You'll have to drink this slowly, Martin," she said softly and brought the glass to his chapped lips. Martin gulped down the contents of the cup, letting it dribble out of the corners of his mouth in his haste to sate his thirst and quell the dry, burning feeling of his throat and mouth. The citrus from the water stung the chapped skin of his lips, but he didn't care. The water tasted too good to care.

Swallowing a mouthful to large, the prince choked and coughed, sputtering out liquid and gasping at the pain that flew across his ribs. Valina pulled the beaker away as Martin tried to roll over to ball up in his new found hurt, but as he raised his legs, an ache like he had never experienced seared over his left thigh. Catching him off guard, Martin's eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply in reaction.

"Easy, Martin," Valina breathed rising to her footpaws and guiding Martin onto his back as he groaned and gasped in anguish. "Take slow breaths, son. The pain will subside in a moment…"

"Mama, why does everything hurt?" Martin moaned, willing the white hot flames from his body.

"Because you fought a battle, Martin!" the queen chortled at his naïve remark. "You took on a score of corsairs by yourself. It's a miracle you are still alive."

"I feel like I'm dying," Martin huffed, wiping beads of sweat from his face with his left paw and grimacing at the tender feeling of his snout. "Ugh. Even my nose feels like it's four times its normal size!"

"Yes, Martin," Valina soothed refreshing the cloth and wiping his brow with more cool water. "It will for a while yet, my son."

Martin grumbled under his breath and took steadying breaths in attempt to ebb the still flashing pain circulating through his body. Valina just continued to fuss with him, adjusting his blankets and helping him to drink more water. Looking around his chamber, Martin noticed the high-banked fire, his table and sideboards covered with healing supplies and bandages, and one of his pillowed lounges pulled closer to his posted bed from its place by the balcony. A lavender and silver evening robe was laid across the headroll of the elaborate furniture and a heavy coverlet folded at the foot. His mother must have been sleeping in his room.

"How long have I been sleeping?" Martin asked quietly. "Where are the servants?"

"You've only been asleep for a couple of days," Valina grinned and fiddled with the cloth on his forehead again. "And I dismissed the servants. The last thing you need right now is a gaggle of eyes staring at you while you rest."

"Father won't approve of you tending to me yourself," Martin smirked. "He'll just tell you its not very royal."

"Hang royalty," the queen giggled. "Your father knows; he's already had his eyes roll over the matter."

"Where is Father?" the prince said quietly after the two mice shared a brief chuckle.

Valina smiled. "With the council. Don't worry, Martin- he'll be back. He hasn't been far from your side the whole time."

"And Malina?" Martin asked, fighting the blush that warmed his cheeks. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine thanks to you and those swift paws of hers," Valina nodded. "She has been a few times to see you, but I haven't let her stay long. She needs to attend to her studies."

Martin sighed and stared out towards his balcony and into the glistening sea and warm bluing sky.

"What happened to me, Mama," the prince questioned after a long silence. "Why was I so… why did I see red?"

"Martin, you finally showed your bloodwrath," Valina said quietly as if it were a great secret and Matthias hadn't spent the last two days practically screaming it from the palace roof. "You saw your red mists."

"Is that what that was?" Martin stated. "I felt so strange. Like nothing else matter except fighting… there was nothing else I could think of. That and to keep Malina safe…"

"Yes, Martin. It controls your mind."

"I couldn't pull back, Mama," Martin confessed. Images of his battle started coming back to him as he recalled the events. "I remember getting hurt, but not feeling pain. I remember thinking there were too many of them, but I couldn't pull back…"

"I know, Martin," Valina exhaled slowly. "Your grandfather used to say the same thing when he came home injured from a battle. He used to say he wasn't in control of his own body; he just kept driving forward."

"Yes," Martin agreed and tried to shift positions on his downy bed. At his movement, the bandages pulled on his wounds and the prince frowned at the hurt while he muttered curses beneath his breath.

"Now, now, Martin- language!" Valina mused and tapped his free paw. "I know it must hurt, but swearing isn't going to make them ache less, so keep a civil tongue.

"You know," she continued, "I wish you would have suffered a minor injury first. I had hoped you would have learned how to deal with pain from one injury before you decided to take on a whole body of them! But then again, you never were one to do things half way!"

Valina chuckled softly to herself when Martin gave her a weak smile and a yawn. The healers had warned her when the prince awoke, he would still be tired and need to sleep again shortly. Letting out another yawn, Martin wiggled himself further into his pillows and allowed his eyes to close halfway.

"Sleep, Martin," the queen commanded lightly while she got to her footpaws and dropped a light kiss on his head. "Rest as much as you can today, for now that you are awake, your father will be insisting the feast he postponed to occur- in your honour of course."

"Father, postponed the State Feast?" Martin murmured and closed his eyes to the daylight.

"Yes," Valina said quietly and waited for Martin's response. After two moments of without a reply, she breathed out a sigh she had been holding the past two days while she kept vigil over him and a surge of relief waved over her body. As battered as he was, Martin was alive.

Valina was just about to settle back onto the lounge when the door latch clicked and Matthias slid into the chamber, quietly closing the door behind him. The queen smiled and held her fingers to her lips to signal silence as the king strode forward.

"You just missed him," Valina whispered and folded into her husband's offered embrace. "He just fell back asleep."

"How is he feeling?" Matthias murmured, resting his chin on her headfur and focusing his gaze on his son.

"He is very sore and very tired," the queen mused. "He'll sleep the day away again."

Matthias smirked. "Good. The more he rests, the quicker he will heal, the faster we can have the State Feast and the sooner Ulran can go north."

"So, you've found where the jewels in the chest came from then?" Valina asked quietly a concerned look crossing her features. "They came from the north?"

"Yes," Matthias sighed. "The chest bore the crest of Nilhand."

"But where could they have gotten them?" Valina pressed. "Nilhand's resources are in its trees, not gems. There are no mines…"

"No _active_ mines," Matthias corrected her. "No _active_ mines that_ we_ _know of_, at least."

"But Baron Falcor…"

"… Has been hiding in Wesrus in Baron Trysten's company this past season," the king grumbled. "Flacor has all but abandoned Nilhand. Milan left the baronial collar to a coward of a son."

"Why would he be hiding?" Valina questioned. "Who is he hiding from?"

"Me, the Council, every Nilhander that does not welcome him within the north," Matthias listed. "I have half a mind to strip him of his title, but I'll wait until Ulran comes back with news."

"You're sending Baron Ulran north?" Valina said cautiously. "Should you not be sending Falcor to sort out his own mess?"

"Falcor claims the Nilhanders resist his authority there and they will not listen to him. Ulran is more assertive and will go as my official envoy. Hopefully, he can quell any grumblings, find out where they are getting these jewels, what they're using them for and re-establish order to the north."

Valina opened her mouth to speak, but Martin let out a loud groan and tried to roll onto his side. Matthias chuckled as he watched his son's attempt a change of position then huff in his slumber and flop onto his back again.

"I think we had better let him sleep," the king said softly and guided Valina to the door. "You need your rest too."

"I'll rest here with him…"

"No, come to our chambers, Vali," Matthias asserted. "You need a proper rest. Martin is fine now, he's on the mend.

"Besides," Matthias said with a grin. "I thought you would want to accompany me to the north tower."

"The north tower?" Valina scoffed and scrunched up her nose. "Why would we both need to go to the prophets? Surely, you can go yourself."

"Pity, and here I thought you were as anxious as I for the day when they could finally see Martin's future."

"What?" Valina gasped loudly as Matthias ushered her into the hallway and closed the door behind them. "His… but they've never been able to see his future. Martin's path has always been hidden from them…"

"I just received a missive from Celton expressing a wish to see us regarding the Etifedd," Matthias chuckled. "It would seem he is not hidden anymore."

* * *

The banners were raised, the fires roared and every barrel of mead and wine in the kingdom was brought to Vasilis. Fisherbeasts worked endlessly to fill the orders from the palace kitchens and servants bustled about the corridors as they tended to their work. No expense was to be spared, no finery to be missed. Everything was to be done with elaborate detail. It was no longer a simple feast for the king to break bread with his statesbeasts; it was now a celebration of royal aptitude. Eutrusia's Etifedd was to be honoured. Fables foretold had come to pass- Prince Martin was indeed twin-blessed and rumours fluttered anxiously in the air with the bringing of a new prophesy; Martin would lead a great army into battle and be victorious.

The seeing wasn't detailed, but it showed Martin had a path, a future and through him, so did Eutrusia. Matthias was overjoyed. After eighteen seasons of foggy visions, the prophets were able to see the prince's fate. Finally, things were coming together for his son and he was following in the footsteps of his forebeasts and ancestors.

Despite his wounds, Martin refused to walk with a prop. His leg hurt him greatly, but he was resolved that no beast in Eutrusia should see him as a weakling. Besides, he argued with his healers, he only had to walk from the doors of the Feasting Hall to the dais. The rest of the evening he could sit and rest his wound. Reluctantly, they agreed.

Dressed in a deep navy tunic with scrolling gold thread and bright red cape, Martin strode off to the festivities with as much vigour as his body allowed. He paused twice along his journey to collect himself and push away the pain from his injuries; each time his pawbeasts looking at him intently, offering words of comfort and the reassurance that he could go back to his chamber if it was too much. Martin just shook his head in response. If fresh wounds on the battlefield did not stop him from attacking, the Fates he was going to allow them to halt his attendance to a feast in his honour. So, gritting his teeth and squaring his shoulders, the prince continued his walk towards the sounds of laughter and revelry.

Pausing briefly at the large double doors, Martin took a deep breath as the herald bellowed his arrival over the carousing beasts before the prince entered into the Feasting Hall to a roar of cheers and paws thumping on tables. He was weak from his injuries, but dismissed all feeling of rest and ache from his mind, concentrating instead on the pride that welled up in his chest while nobles, syrs, officers, chancellors and wealthy merchants called his name and praised his bravery, his valour and his family. The only two creatures in the hall not standing were his parents, as they were not permitted to stand for any beast in Eutrusia, but instead both monarchs sat on the edge of their seats and clapped fervently. Reaching the dais, Martin bounded up the steps, more in an effort to get to his seat quicker than a show of strength, but the Eutrusians took it as the latter and applauded all the louder. Settling uncomfortably in his chair beside his father, Martin smiled at the creatures and waved them his thanks. With a motion from Matthias, the cheering slowed and the beasts took back to their places at the long tables. Martin let his head flop against his chair's headrest and eagerly tapped on his goblet for the wine-bearer to fill. Once brimmed with currant wine, Martin took a long drink and willed the alcohol to help numb his pain.

"Not so fast, Martin," Matthias chuckled at him and gave him a wink. "You don't want to end up on the floor."

"If it will stop the pain, I do," Martin mused, motioning for his goblet to be filled again. "Or at least make me drunk enough that I don't feel it anymore."

Matthias let out a hearty laugh and commanded them all to eat while bard sung a comical Eutrusian folktale of a squirrel that was so taken with a mousemaid's beauty that he dyed his fur brown and shaved his tail in attempt to look like a mouse so she would bestow him with a kiss. Laughing at the vulgarity of the story, Martin looked over to the vacant seat beside his mother. The seat Malina usually held. The smile immediately dropped from his face and he was about to ask where she was when the heralds announced her and the doors from the western wing opened.

Martin felt his heart stop as she walked toward them. He had only seen her once since he awoke and it was only quickly when she snuck through the pass-ways to his chamber to wish him a good night. It wasn't proper for her to be in his private chambers now they were older, but she was always went places she shouldn't be. Still, he was glad for it; especially when she kissed him on the forehead before she departed, her long curling headfur cascading around him and perfuming the air with the scent of oranges and clove oil from a recent bath. That night, he had fallen asleep with a large smile on his face and a warm feeling in his heart.

But now as she glided towards them, he was speechless and could only hope his expression was not mirroring the thoughts coursing through his mind. To him, dressed in her gown made of the palest blue satin and a low sapphire and diamond coronet, Malina was the most beautiful creature in the hall.

Walking to the dais, Malina swept her family a grand curtsy.

"So sorry to be late," she declared and waited for Matthias to motion for her to rise. "I couldn't decide on a gown."

"Well, I suppose two days isn't enough time for such an important decision," the king chortled and then laughed aloud as Valina gave him a playful swat on the arm. Turning serious, Matthias looked to his left as the princess settled into her seat and started to delicately wash her paws in the bowl of offered lemon water. "Don't let it happen again, Malina."

"Yes, Lord Father," she replied dutifully and smiled past the king to the beast on his right. Shaking his head in confusion, Matthias glanced over his shoulder and scowled at his son.

"Martin, sit down," Matthias said crossly. "What are you doing?"

Martin quickly settled himself down in his seat, shaking his own thoughts from his head. He hadn't even realized he had stood up. Matthias grumbled admonishments at him and Malina gave a light airy giggle. It was only Valina who was quietly observing her son, taking note of his set jaw and reddish tinge to his ear-tips. Bringing her gaze back to the princess, Valina tilted her head in assessment of Malina's choice of gown. A blue gown; one that matched the colour of her son's eyes.

"My lady, what are you smiling at?" Matthias whispered in her ear. "You're smirking like a simpleton."

"Nothing, my lord," Valina replied formally and bore a more regal expression. "Just thinking how interesting the next few seasons will be."

"Your Majesties?" a strong voice sounded before them and both monarchs turned their attention to the base of the dais where Baron Trysten stood with a what appeared to be a syr and a young mousemaid.

"Ah, Trysten," Matthias said formally. "Enjoying the feast?"

"Yes, Majesty," the baron replied and bent forward in a quick bow. "Most excellent cuisine and entertainment."

"Who are your friends, Baron Trysten?" Valina asked as she scrutinized the maiden from ear to tail tip, fully knowing what the introduction was going to be about.

"Your Majesty, this is Syr Denthor and his daughter, Lady Giada."

At the silence that followed, Trysten addressed Matthias directly. "Your Majesty will remember Syr Denthor from the Battle of Wesrus. He was the primary commander of my forces."

"Yes, I remember Syr Denthor," Matthias nodded to the mouse who bowed deeply at the acknowledgement. "I was, however, unaware he had a daughter."

At that, the mousemaid stepped forward and curtsied low before the dais, keeping her chin modestly snugged to her chest.

"Lady Giada is a most accomplished dancer, Your Highness," Baron Trysten said firmly and tipped his head to the prince. "Perhaps you will allow her to show you once the music begins."

"Is that so?" Martin mused and made a casual lean on the table. "Please rise, Lady Giada and accept my apologies, but given the circumstances of previous events, I fear I will be unable to partake in a dance this evening."

The maiden gave a nervous nod and bowed her head as she backed towards her father and the baron. The three creatures made their excuses and stepped lightly away from the platform to return to their table.

"Pretty maid," Matthias mumbled as he watched them leave. "Her father is a brave mouse…"

"Matthias!" Valina hissed.

"Valina, don't give me that- I saw you evaluating her."

"Yes, but…"

"Martin is of age for a betrothal," Matthias whispered so his son could not overhear them and, assessing the height of the table, laid a paw low on her stomach. "If you don't recall, at his age I already had you growing large with him."

Valina's face flamed redder than the berries that covered the flan in front of her. "That is different."

"It's the same," the king laughed and stretched back in his seat. "The only thing that is different is that it's your little princeling this time."

"What are you two talking about?" Martin said slowly and gave his parents a sly look. "What are…"

"Don't worry about it, son," Matthias chuckled and took a large gulp of his wine and clapped Martin non-too gently on the back. "In the words of your grandfather, I'll make sure it's one you can enjoy with the candles lit!"

"Matthias!" Valina gasped and gaped at her husband. "Matthias, by the Fates…"

"Oh, good," the king said loudly to interrupt any of his family from speaking further. "The musicians are here."

The night wore on and the dance was merry. Martin left the dais and circulated through the hall, conversing with nobles and merchants alike, taking careful consideration to speak to everybeast regardless of their position. The music was light and his footpaws ached to move to the steps as almains, wheels and riddas were conducted with enthusiasm. Even his parents had graced the court by dancing a walzma. All beasts seemed to be enjoying themselves, in particular Malina.

"May I have this dance, Your Highness?" Lord Gandon asked as he bowed low before the princess where she was standing with some other maidens of her acquaintance.

"If it please you, my lord," Malina replied with a smile and held up her paw with royal grace. When the mouse's trembling paw touched hers, she dipped a quick curtsy and allowed him to lead her in the latter half of an almain. When the song was finished, another young lord asked her for a dance, then another, then a syr. She even graced a rich merchant's son in being her partner for a wheel, a dance that shifted partners frequently so she would not be completely scrutinized for dancing with a beast too far below her.

"I requested a volte to be played next," a roguishly arrogant lord by the name of Killen announced to her and held out his paw. "I am told it is your favourite dance, Princess Malina."

"It is, my lord," Malina responded and held her head high in his informality of addressing her by name. "But only when the lead knows his steps. It can be quite a frustrating dance if your partner does not know where he should be."

The young lord was quiet at her declaration, but bowed in acknowledgement of her words and walked forward with her onto the floor with the other dancers. Once the music started, Malina immediately yelp when he trod on her footpaw.

"My apology, Princ- Your Highness," Lord Killen mumbled and hopped about in attempt to time the beat again.

"Its fine- just lead with your lef- OUCH!" Malina cried again as he knocked knees with her.

"The musicians' timing is off," the lord blushed deeply at his mistakes. "It should be a fourth count…"

"May I?"

Both mice stopped their awkward movements to see Martin standing beside them, his paws crossed over his chest. Once he had their attention, the prince gave a devilish grin and held his paw up high for Malina, all the while never taking his eyes off the Lord of Two-Left-Paws.

"I'm sorry Martin, but Lord Killen has specifically requested this song so we may dance," Malina said formally.

"Ah, the good lord won't mind," Martin smirked. "Will you, Killen?"

"Not at all, Your Highness," Killen said with a low bow. "I am at Your Highness' service."

"My lady?" Martin smiled at the princess as Killen backed away. "May I have this dance, Princess?"

Malina placed her paw over Martin's and bobbed a curtsy, making a sweeping motion with dress skirts in paw to add a flare of gallantry. With a laugh, Martin stepped forward with Malina, and into the motions of the dance.

"You shouldn't be dancing, Martin," Malina chided him as they hopped forward and sideways to step around each other's back. "You're injured."

"One dance won't kill me," Martin chuckled. "Besides, I couldn't stand by and witness that mouse slaughter a volte."

"Well, thank-you for saving my footpaws!" Malina giggled, clapping once and skipping away from him in a half circle. Coming back to him, Malina felt heat rising to her cheeks as Martin clasped her left paw and around her waist with his right in preparation for the lift.

"Martin, you don't have to…" But before she could finish, Martin raised her up effortlessly for half a turn, then placed her carefully back on her footpaws.

"No, I don't have to," Martin said quietly to her as he executed another lift and gritted his teeth against the strain it caused on his right arms wounds. "But I love the way a dance makes you smile."

Matthias wound his way through the crowds of onlookers to where a thickly set mouse wearing a rich maroon tunic a heavy gold baronial collar was watching the dancers.

"Well, my Lord Ulran," Matthias said tipping his cup towards a laughing Malina as Martin set her in a twirl. "What do you think of her?"

"She does you credit, your Majesty," Ulran replied and resisted the urge to give a lustful smile. "She is a beauty. I have no doubt she will make a great match for my Ulrick."

Matthias nodded proudly as Ulran turned his attention to the king. "To be clear, her title is an empty one?"

"Yes," Matthias said plainly. "She is not of my line. She was an orphan I found one day by the sea. I am afraid you have to take her at face value."

"Oh, her face has value alright," Ulran chuckled. "As does her dowry you send her with."

"I'm glad we are in agreement then," Matthias smiled taking a long drink of his wine. "I will have them draft the documents in the morning and we can have them signed before you make your way north."

"Are you still wanting to keep my envoy mission a secret from the Etifedd?" Ulran said cautiously. "Prince Martin is still not to know?"

"Correct," Matthias replied. "For the time being. He has enough to concern himself with in the weeks to come now that he can take full responsibility of his captaincy and considerations for a betrothal of his own. A few peasants that have stumbled unto some old mines are none of his concern."

"As you wish, Majesty."

* * *

**IF YOU READ IT, PLEASE REVIEW IT! I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR SOME MORE COMMENTS ON THE STORY!**


	9. The Rebellion of Nilhand

**Chapter 8- The Rebellion of Nilhand**

Surf crashed relentless against black hull of the galley as if the very seas were trying to push the vessel back from whence it came. From the quarter deck the captain shouted orders to the verminous crew to haul up the dark green sails while the winds ushered in a threatening gale. Below the decks, the oar master cracked his whip at the heads of the oarslaves, the cracker flicking a breath from their eyes, nipping at their ears and opening their backs should they slow their pace. Steadily the pushed the oars forward and then pulled them back again. Forward, back. Forward, back. All to the time of a beating drum. _Tum, tum. Tum, tum._ Forward, back. Forward, back. _Tum, tum. Tum, tum._

High above the gale beckoned in the black clouds, swirling the seas into an ominous shade of green to mirror the ship's own façade. Deep within the clouds the thunder rumbled with the drumbeats, the lightning whipped with the lash. The winds gusted against the captain's shouted commands, rallying the elements to its cause.

"Rise ta slips 'n tie 'em fast on ta yards!" a lean gray fox growled to the crew above the blasts of sea air as the salted spray burned his eyes and chapped his lips. "T'en git yar paws 'neath ta deck ta weather thee storm!"

Grunting, the fox pulled the wheel to the left, glimpsing briefly at his compass to check his bearings before tying a thick rope around the rungs of the helm to hold the ship on its course west. Higher the waves rose and the ship groaned as it flopped over the wake and crashed into the next wave without meter, tipping the vermin about the deck boards like kelp on the tide. The captain glanced over his shoulder at the cabin behind him; quarters he should be retreating to. Instead, he covered up a shiver by shaking rainwater from his ears and stepped warily down the steps to the main deck to slip into the hatch with the rest of his crew.

"Captain Cinereal, whatcha doing down 'ere?" a squinty eyed ferret asked. "Why ya not in yar cabin?"

"I no be sharin' quarters wit tat beast," Cinereal replied and tipped a hammock to dispel the creature in so he could take up occupation. "Ta Lord o' Clapsbay may 'ave ordered uz ta take it w'ere it be needin' ta go, ba 'ee no be sayin' I 'ave ta be nice-like ta it. Sides, I c'nt take ta wheezin' it does."

The crew shared a hearty laugh and started handing out mugs of grog while they waited for the storm to run its course. Above them nestled comfortably in the captain's cabin, a creature was slouched at the broad table centering the room. A heavy black cloak covered its body, the hood pulled up over its head; its tail and paws were the only things exposed to any who dared to look on at it. Carefully the beast rapped its claws on the tabletop as it muttered incantations between rasping breaths, thinking, searching… seeing.

The western corsairs had failed to meet them at Irgash and for a week they waited without quarry. Finally, the new young Lord of Clapsbay, Clune, had taken it as insult and sent a crew to go collect the tribute that was due to him and his brother, Clud, the other lord of the vermin empire. For generations the corsairs of the west rendezvoused with the reigning vermin at Irgash to offer homage to the Lord of Clapsbay with spoils of jewels and gold; spoils that had gone to pay mercenaries for their services to the ratlords in their battles as they tried to conquer the southern mainland. But what delayed them now? No beast could answer.

And there were other questions in need of answers; an image of a threat to the empire, a foretelling of its downfall. It had been others of the creature's ilk to see it first. A sabre spinning over conquered lands, twirling through the air towards the west. An expansion. Then out of the mists a broadsword flew, piercing the sabre through the blade and pinning it against the rocks to the east. A resistance. But then something else happened. The sabre bled. A death.

But the creature had seen something more, _some beast_ more. Some beast from the west, his fate unclear, his path not yet made, but rather pockets of events scattered across a space of time. The creature needed to find this beast and lay a paw of the Fates on him to see his purpose, his tie to the Clap and why the Seasons had ushered in the mists to hide him. But he needed more information than the Fates had given him so far. He needed another seeing. Lord Clune had entrusted him to discovery where the resistance would come from and dispose of him to end the threat of what might come to pass.

Through the depths of his mind, his third eye strained to place of secrets thoughts, to hidden threads of life and the spinals that weaved the strands of flesh, bone and blood of the mortal world. There, in a glistening hall, he saw him; a mouse clad in crimson and rose gold, a long sword in his paw and a red gleam to his eyes. Behind him stood to spools of other creatures as he protected them from harm, always pushing back if the darkness pressed forward; always forward, never backward. This mouse knew not how to stand down.

Scenes would shift to battles, white sands and fire. Metal clashed mental, halberd met pike, sword met sabre. Banners of snakes and claws whipped in the wind as the standards of scroll and sword advanced it. A battle of two kingdoms. But who would win?

Snarling at the vagueness of his seeing, the creature pulled back his hood to reveal the face of black pine marten. Heavy scars lined his fur and his breathing intensified into a shuddering wheeze in preparation of the pain to come. He had to make payment if he was to see more, the Fates demanded blood for knowledge of the events to come.

The pine marten raised a claw to his face, pressing it sharply into his flesh until he pierced his skin and felt the bone beneath his temple.

"Dracul gives blood for the sight, oh Fates," the vermin rasped out as he dragged his claw downwards; splitting his own face open with his claw in a long, bloody line. "Fates betold the sights beheld."

Moaning at his self-mutilation, Dracul closed his eyes and willed the Fates to take his payment. The blackness swirled, shifting, shaping. Again he saw him; the mouse with flashing red eyes and a whirling sword, pushing forward against the fray; but where? Where was the battle? Everything around the mouse was blurred, fogged. Mists wreathed the warrior and wouldn't let him see.

The pine marten growled in frustration and pulled his hood over his bleeding face. He didn't wipe off the blood. It was no longer his. It was the Fates' to do with it what they willed. Turning to the window at the back of the cabin, Dracul looked out into the storm as it assaulted the ship's advancement west.

He had to find this mouse. He had to see his fate, for within it lie the fate of Clapsbay and entrance to Hellsgates. Captain Cinereal and his crew could deal with the western traitors and procure tribute for the lords. No, he had to find a mouse.

* * *

Martin strode through the portcullis of the southern gate of Vasilis and across the palace courtyard to the wide steps that led to the Grand Gallery. As he walked creatures bowed or curtsied, backing away and muttering a respect, "Your Highness."

It had been a fortnight since his celebration feast and Martin was healed and back to his duties; his normal duties as Etifedd being added to now that his father had bestowed full rights as Captain of the Guard on him. Now all missives and concerns regarding the safety of the kingdom went to Martin's paws first and he would then address them to the king. The prince rose to the responsibility with ease and tact, exhibiting rulings that showed wisdom far beyond his young seasons. It was a promising beginning to the start of a future reign.

Coming to the top of the stairs, he nodded to the footbeasts who opened the doors wide and the prince entered into the shade of the hall, rolling his strained shoulders and sighing at the coolness that fluttered on his face. It was only late morning and already Martin was exhausted. Rising with the dawn, the prince had made his way to the tilt grounds, training and conversing with his lieutenants before his own advisors and chancellors had caught up with him to discuss matters of state. By the ninth bell, Martin had met with the Lord Admiral to discuss the seas and any concerns or information that came from it. There were reports of increased corsair activity on the western seaboard, but no direct threats as of yet; the vermin were still keeping a healthy distance and leaving trade ships alone, but Admiral Daelahn was keeping a weathered eye on them. At the first sight of trouble, the corsairs would suffer the wrath of Eutrusia's fleet.

Taking advantage of the empty gallery, Martin held up his paw to halt his small entourage walking in his shadow and sauntered down the line of the great arras to the end where there was no longer a bare patch of marble. No, now hanging proudly beside his father was his own likeness to forever solidify his place in Eutrusian history. Martin smiled at the image that gazed down at him; a strong mouse in full battle armour, his shield in paw and sword held bravely before him. Drawing the sword belted to his side, Martin chuckled at how his natural stance with a blade mimicked the threaded figure hanging above him. The semptresses had done a masterful job capturing his likeness; now if he could just duplicate the same degree of work on his own prophesy and become the victor of the battle they had foretold.

Feeling the awkward weight in his paw, Martin looked down at the jewelled sword his father had given him the week following his celebration feast. With a twist of his wrist, the prince turned the weapon over and back again as if convincing himself it was truly in his paw. It was a beautiful weapon to look upon, yet the craftsmanship was flawed. Large emeralds and diamonds littered the golden hilt while outsized pommel was a skilfully blended sphere of gold and silver swirls, but the sword was not balanced; the ornate design made the haft heavier than the blade and the edge ran shorter and wider than Martin preferred. But it was a gift from his father and to honour the king, the prince was determined to make an effort to wield it; however, practice as he did, he still couldn't get used to it. It didn't feel right in his paws.

Not like the worn battle blade of his grandsire. That sword was perfectly balance and Martin was able to bear it lightly despite its great length. He always felt safe when he held that blade in his paws, like the sword itself would protect him. It had already seen him through his first fight to victory. To Martin it seemed ridiculous to change his weapon now, especially when his grandsire's blade was the traditional sword of the Captain of the Guard. They had always wielded that blade since the title's inception in the founding of the kingdom. He sighed. Why did his father always have to meddle?

Hearing footpaws walking towards him, Martin sighed and held on to his patience. "Lord Conroy, I do not want to be disturbed right now…"

"So, they told me," an airy voice replied, stifling back a giggle. "I told them I didn't care."

Martin turned at the familiar sound and let a smile soften his features when he saw Malina two paces behind him. Returning his joyful expression, Malina swept him a playful curtsy before rising to her footpaws to address him in their game.

"My Lord, Prince Martin," she said mockingly. "Seasons greet you well on this fine day."

"Your Highness," Martin chuckled, bowing over her outstretched paw. "To what do I owe the honour of your presence, princess?"

"Hiding from Father!" Malina said rolling her eyes and breaking from their mock of royal protocol. "Every time I see him, he keeps insisting that I am interested in the geography of Eurus or its capital of Lysium. I don't know why he thinks I care. It's like he's not telling me something. Luckily, I didn't have to listen to him long before somebeast else distracted him."

"He's an oddity sometimes," Martin chuckled looking down at his new sword. "For all his philosophy, sometimes he doesn't know when to leave well enough alone."

"Or so we have daily proof," Malina winked and tapped her claw on the blade. "Does it feel better yet?"

"No," Martin groaned slightly. "It's still as awkward as the first day I wielded it."

"Why can't you use your old sword?" Malina asked earnestly as the prince sheathed the blade at his side. "There was nothing wrong with it."

"Father doesn't believe that it is a sword worthy of a _princely_ captain," Martin said plainly in half-hearted defense of Matthias' decision. Shaking his head, the prince added, "Little does he recall a foe doesn't care about the jewels on the hilt, but the keenness of the blade."

Malina nodded her acknowledgement and followed Martin's stare back up to the tapestry.

"Is that you?" Malina asked curiously and let her smile light up her soft green eyes. "They finished it?"

"Yes," Martin grinned. "Just today, I'm told. I was just admiring it when you came in."

"You're in armour," Malina observed, touching the fabric with her paw. "Does it mean something? I mean, the rest of your forebeasts are depicted in their strength."

"It means I will make a name for myself on the battlefield," Martin replied. "As to the rest of what I will do, that is still unclear."

"But you don't want to go to war?"

"I would rather peace," he smiled at her and took her paw. "But if there are creatures to defend I will be there sword in paw. I will keep Eutrusia safe at all costs."

"You will be a great king," Malina smiled, loving the warm feeling she had now that he was touching her paw. Her stomach tightened as she looked into his blue eyes and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She always thought the other young noble maids of her acquaintance ridiculous when they admitted to being flustered and nervous in Martin's presence, but ever since she saw him fight on the beach, Malina was starting to get the same sort of feelings when she was around him.

"I will try," Martin laughed merrily as he placed her paw on his arm to lead her away. Looking back at the long tapestry behind them, he focused on the image of himself and smiled at the embroidery of the sword. It was not the heavily jewelled one his father insisted he use, rather a simple, plain sword. His grandsire's sword; the sword of the Captain of the Guard.

"Martin?" Malina said quietly at his pause. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Malina," Martin chuckled and gestured for them to continue to the western wing. They hadn't gotten far before there was a commotion outside the gallery and the doors were thrust open to beckon a frantic herald.

"Your Highness!" he called when he spotted Martin across the hall. "Prince Martin- you are needed at the river immediately!"

"For what?" Martin questioned, dropping Malina's paw from his arm to walk towards the anxious hedgehog. "What news is there from the Eu?"

"A royal messenger from Nilhand, Highness!" the herald gasped. "Just arrived in a dory- Highness, he's barely alive!"

"What!" Martin roared. "What was a royal messenger doing in the north?"

"I-I'm not sure, Your Highness."

"Ivar, Fystien- come with me," Martin ordered, pointing at the two guards by the door. "Lord Conroy, find out who gave the order for a messenger to be in Nilhand, and you," Martin continued as he strode passed the hedgehog. "Alert the king of this matter."

* * *

The messenger was bloodied, weary and half starved. For four days he paddle his way down the Eu, desperate to make it back to Aurelius and give his report to the king. By the time Martin had arrived at the river docks, the squirrel was already being attended to by a healer, while Syr Donovan and Lieutenant Klein saw the crowds of gaping beasts were held back. The dockyarder who pulled the dory in and helped the stammering messenger onto the planks had just begun to give his report to the prince, when Matthias descended into the mix.

"Deacon," the king breathed and went to stand before the squirrel while he had his head wrapped. Seeing the king, the messenger tried to rise, but the healer pushed him back down on the crate he was sitting on.

"Deacon," Matthias started and bent down to look the creature in the eyes. "Deacon, where is Syr Ettore?"

The messenger only pierced his lips together and clenched his jaw against the tears that welled his eyes. Glancing around at the onlookers, the squirrel took a large breath and gave the barest of headshakes and shivered against an unspoken memory. Martin furrowed his brow at the messenger's reaction and dismissed the dockyarder with a flick of his wrist, never taking his eyes off his father.

"Take him to the palace," Matthias said sternly and stretched up to his full height again. "Directly into my private chambers. Now."

* * *

"Come!" Matthias called when a knock sounded from the doors of his private chambers. Taking another drink from his wine goblet, the king continued to gaze upon the map of the northern state of Eutrusia that had been laid out on the table before him on a large rounded table by a chart beast. He had been staring at it now for the better part of an hour, each moment growing tenser as visions of his old battles came back into his mind. Hearing the latch of the door click, Matthias looked up to see Martin walk briskly into the chamber and wait to be received.

"Ah, Martin," Matthias said curtly. "I'm glad they were able to find you quickly."

"Yes, Lord Father," Martin replied dutifully and gave a slight bow. "What news from the messenger?"

Matthias held a finger to his lips to silence his son until the doors were shut and they were alone before motioning Martin to the table.

"Wine?" Matthias asked bluntly as Martin came forward.

"You look like you've had enough for both of us," Martin assessed and raised his eyebrow at the half empty decanter. His father was not usually a heavy drinker; whatever was on his mind from the messenger was weighing hard on his conscience. "I'll pass for now.

"Father," Martin pressed once he saw the area the map depicted. "Father, what is this all about? The messenger, the map… you never drink midday…"

Matthias let out a single bark of laughter and sat down in his high-backed chair and made a gesture for Martin to take up one of the other five seats.

"There is an uprising in the northern state, Martin," Matthias said plainly and took another gulp of wine. "A rebellion so to speak. They are opposing our rule."

Martin sighed and rubbed his face with his paw. He had suspected as much from the arrival of the messenger, but why there would be a rebellion was still a mystery to him. He knew well enough from council meetings that Nilhand was the hardest of the states to manage, but Baron Falcor was supposed to keep the northerners in check as his title entailed. Something he clearly was not doing.

"What will you do, Father?"

"It is not what I will do Martin, but what _you_ will do," Matthias said plainly. "You are my Captain of the Guard. You are old enough now. You will lead the Guard into battle."

"Into battle against our own creatures?" Martin asked sternly. "Father, surely an envoy…"

"Has been killed, yes," Matthias said quickly. "According to Deacon, Syr Ettore's head lays six paces from his body. You don't think I have tried to make peace, son?"

Martin shook his head. "How would I know what you are thinking when you haven't said a word about it until today? Father, you haven't even brought up anything at council…"

"Because it was not supposed to progress to this!" the king snapped and threw his chalice in the fire. "After the second envoy any beast would clearly see I am trying to be more than reasonable."

"What are the particulars?" Martin breathed. "Why are they rebelling in the first place?"

"Their motives are unclear," the king replied with more poise than his previous statement. "Neither of my envoys were able to get anything out of them; as you saw, one didn't come home at all."

"Surely Falcor knows."

Matthias just laughed and rolled his eyes. "Falcor will be lucky to be a _master_ when I am done stripping him of his titles.

"It all comes down to the chest, Martin," Matthias relented and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees in a peasant-like position. "The chest the corsairs were after the day you and Malina ran into them on the shore."

"It only had jewels in it. How could you possibly tied that in to Nilhand?"

"It bore the crest of the north," Matthias said plainly. "And vermin were collecting it. I believe you can put the pieces together from there."

"You think the Nilhanders are allying themselves with _corsairs?_" Martin said, eyeing his father warily. "Father…"

"Assess the information we know, Martin," Matthias voiced sternly, stretching back upright and rapping his claw on the armrest as he made each point. "A chest of jewels bearing the Nilhand crest is picked up by corsairs, Nilhanders resist Baron Falcor's presence in the north, they refuse to tell my first envoy the source of the gems or their intentions, _and_ my second envoy they behead without ceremony. That, my dear lad, is called _treason_; and treason is the seed of _rebellion_."

Martin clenched his jaw against the sense of duty weighing heavy on his shoulders. Looking up at Matthias, he asked. "Are you coming with me?"

"No," Matthias replied and shook his head. "With you there our family is represented enough."

"And there is no other way? All avenues have been tried?"

"No, Martin," Matthias said, annoyed that his son was seemingly skirting around the idea of warfare. "Find your courage, son. You are for battle."

"It is not my courage I need to find, Father," Martin countered, rising from his chair and going to pace in front of the large hearth. "But the mind to fight my fellow Eutrusians."

"Well, find your mind and muster your army," Matthias asserted and turned his attention back to the map. "The healers have finished binding Deacon's wounds- thank the Seasons they were relatively minor and he is more traumatized than anything. I have sent him to the kitchens to be fed, and then have instructed a herald to escort him to the Chart Room for you to discuss with him the whereabouts of rebellion's camp and their numbers."

"Yes," Martin responded automatically as his mind reeled with lessons of his military training. Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, the prince looked at the trinkets and heirlooms which covered the polished granite mantle. After a moment, Martin noticed a small gold bell and reaching up, took it in his paw, rolling it in his fingers and wiping off the dust. His father always had trinkets about his chamber. When he was younger, Martin used to sit with him during the rains and Matthias would tell him the great stories behind each one. Though in all the times he had looked upon the mantle, he had never seen this particular bell or heard a story that recounted it before.

"Where did you get this trinket, Father?" Martin asked, noting the ancient writing on the curve of the metal. Squinting at the inscription, Martin recognized the familiar symbols of Badgerpaw writing. Although almost an extinct dialect, Matthias had insisted the prince learn the ancient script as a nod to the ancient alliance between Eutrusia and the great Badger Lords from the founding days.

"They found it in the records," Matthias mused, smiling at both the facts that his son had found his newest addition to his collection and they were no longer discussing warfare, but his favourite topic- Eutrusian history. "Can you read it? Do you remember your lessons?"

Martin nodded and cleared his throat.

"The bell will ring,  
One clear calm day,  
When the seasons' cycle ends.  
And the flower will sing,  
Where the Warrior stays,  
As the family will slowly mend.  
Their descendants will bring,  
All his courage to bay,  
Against vermin hordes, they'll fend.  
And they'll both smile down,  
And welcome them home,  
To the circle no beast could bend."

"Very good, Martin," Matthias chuckled. "I'm glad you didn't sleep though all your lessons."

"Languages always interested me," Martin confessed and grinned at the knowledge that his father knew about his naps during his lessons. He had felt the back of his tutor's paw on more than one occasion. "But what does it mean?"

"No beast knows!" Matthias laughed and rose from his chair to stretch the worry of the previous topic from his body. "We know not where it came from or which beast it was meant for. The scholars have been all through the records. There is no mention of it as a gift."

Walking over to his son, the king took the small bell from the prince and placed it back on the mantle.

"I believe it is a writing of things to come," Matthias confided. "Badgers are famously wise creatures. I am sure they have their own ways of seeing ahead into the mists and following their paths. We have no way of knowing who this bell is for, or its comforting words, but we can safeguard it for them. The bell will wait here until the creature it was meant for comes to collect it."

Martin nodded in agreement at his father's sage words. Smiling as Matthias turned back to the table, Martin remembered his father's depiction on the tapestry; a philosopher. He had always been one as far back as Martin could remember. Martin's expression hardened as he thought of his own image. A fighter. A brave mouse clad in battle armour. That was his path. His future was before him.

There was a gentle knock on the chamber door and at the king's call a young squirrel page stuck his head into the room. Looking at Martin directly, he cleared his throat.

"The messenger is ready in the Chart Room, Your Highness."

* * *

**If you read it, please review it!**

**Alright, so we've had eight chapters now of new and/or significantly rewritten segments for this epic. For those of you reading it for the "second time" what are your thoughts? Are things being better explained? More character development? Less flip-floppy actions (like you can see things happening for a reason)? Some feedback would be greatly appreciated! So... come on- write a comment or two in the little box below... :)**


	10. Battle Plans

**Thanks to Shadowed One 19 for the review! Now on to the next chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 9- Battle Plans**

"The northerners have two auxiliary camps located at inlet of the River Eu and the base of the Isran Pass," Martin stated as he pointed out the locations on the large map of Eutrusia carved into the great stone table in the Council Chamber. Around the stone sat Matthias with a pawful of chancellors and scribes standing behind, while the Lieutenants of the Royal Guard pulled up the remaining five seats; grim faced they sat, each of them carefully listening to the battle plans their new captain had devised.

"According to Deacon, their main camp is just past the bridges of Cartiak, settled in amongst the tree line," Martin continued and pointed to the depiction of a dense forest. "After their execution of Syr Ettore, they would be daft not to be expecting the crown to retaliate. They will be watching every main entrance into Nilhand; every entrance large enough I could march the Guard through."

"Surely, they know they have weakened their numbers by dividing their forces," Lieutenant Olan grumbled as the leaned back in his chair. "Their numbers can't be that large that they can divide themselves amongst three separate camps."

"Not from what the messenger relayed yesterday," Matthias put in. "But he was just able to get away when Ettore was killed; Deacon may not have seen the full scope of their numbers."

"They are dividing because they don't know where we will strike," Martin asserted. "They have positioned themselves at all the major inlets into the north. It is a foolish decision- one we will ensure they will not forget they made."

The council let out a series of 'ayes' and heartily hammered fisted paws on the table in agreement. The king chuckled as he watched his son wave off the praise and continued divulging his plans to the war beasts. Was this the same mouse who only a few hours ago was struggling with the idea of fighting the rebellion? Now Martin looked every bit Eutrusia's Captain of the Royal Guard; he was strong, solid and unwavering as he dictated his plans and courses of action. Matthias couldn't help but smile at the approving nods Martin was receiving not only from the council elders standing in observation around the chamber, but also from the lieutenants who were much more seasoned war beasts than the young prince.

"Where will you strike, Your Highness?" one of the elders asked. "Where will you make your stand?"

"I will not chance three separate battles," Martin voiced strongly. "If indeed their numbers are larger than ours, I will not risk the safety of the Guard by fighting on three fronts. We will concentrate all our efforts into one battle."

Martin took the small wooden blocks carved into the shape of ships and placed them at the docks located directly to the south of the inlet to the River Eu.

"I will take the fleet and land at the merchant docks west of Cartiak," Martin confided. "By taking the ships, the Guard will be rested and ready for battle when we land. There is a small plain just to the southeast of the inlet. That is where we will meet them in battle; if it comes to that."

"And you think you can get them to combine their whole force?" Olan questioned, raising an eyebrow at the young captain.

"I do," Martin nodded confidently and smiled at the squirrel. "If you were going up against the Royal Guard, would you not want all of your forces in one spot? Would you not want your numbers so great that you would have the best chance of crushing them?"

"Numbers don't win battles, Your Highness," an otter lieutenant named Evrol countered.

"No, but they don't know that," Martin smirked. "Many of them are inexperienced in warfare. From what we know from Baron Falcor, Nilhand's citizens are mainly farmers and lumberjacks, and now apparently a few miners."

There were a few snickers and scoffs that muttered through the room at the prince's statement. Matthias just raised an eyebrow.

"Regardless of what their primary occupation is, you should not underestimate them," the king cautioned. "A beast defending their homeland can be as deadly as one hundred trained soldiers. Martin, you must not be over confident."

"I won't be, Lord Father," Martin replied and bowed his head in acknowledgement. "But we too are defending our homeland, our country, our _Eutrusia_. We too," Martin paused and gestured around the table at his lieutenants, "are just as deadly."

Another round of pommeled paws rapped hard against the stone, echoing faith in Martin's assurance.

Raising his paw to silence them, Matthias cleared his throat. "But what of the Nilhander's numbers, Martin? If the Guard does fall against them…" "We won't fall, Lord Father," Martin smiled at him and tapped the blade of his sword where it rested on the table with the rest of the council's arms; a symbol of the Guard's unity in the safety of Eutrusia. "I won't let us."

"Martin…"

"Father, bravery is not found in the arms a beast bears, but in the beast that bears the arms," Martin countered sternly and placed his paws on the table to lean assertively over the table, over Eutrusia. "We may not have the amount of beasts the northerners have, but we are brave and trained in our trade. We will return."

"Prince Martin is right, Your Majesty," Lieutenant Klein agreed. "The Guard is well trained, and with all of us, our numbers would rival any force Nilhand could surely raise…"

"We aren't taking the whole Guard," Martin interrupted, stretching up to his full height readying himself for resistance. Every beast present stopped and stared at the young mouse. "Some will stay behind in case these northerners play us false and march on the Vasilis once the Guard is in the north. Or if they truly are allying with corsairs, the scum attacks the south while we fight in the north. There must be a force here to put up a resistance until we can make our way back."

"Martin, you must take the whole Guard with you," Matthias voiced strongly. "You must protect yourself."

"I _must_ protect Eutrusia," Martin countered. "I _must_ protect my family.

"I will be taking Lieutenants Klein and Olan with me," Martin continued and nodded to the two creatures on his right. "Lieutenants Evrol, Malax and Condor will stay in Aurelius and protect the south if needed. I have sent missives to Wesrus and Eurus alerting Barons Trysten and Ulran to look to their own defenses until this uprising is diminished."

Matthias nodded in approval of Martin's decisions. "When do you leave, Martin?"

"With the tide, Lord Father," Martin smirked at the astonishment that flickered across some of the creatures' faces. "Admiral Daelahn is preparing the fleet as we speak and Syr Donovan is organizing the arms for the Guard."

"And who will you place as your second, Highness?" an elder asked as he gestured around the room. "With you gone in the north, who will make militant decisions in your stead?"

"My Lord Father, of course," Martin replied and tilted his head towards the opposite end of the table. "King Matthias will act as Captain Intern in my absence. That is of course, if His Majesty does not object."

"I accept the role with honour, Your Highness," Matthias smiled and held back a chuckle at his son's formality.

"Good, that's settled then," Martin chortled, settling back into his chair and tapping the stone table with his claw. "Now, back to Nilhand…"

There was a loud knock on the door of the chambers to silence the war council. All eyes turned to the entrance as the footbeasts pulled open the double doors and a young otter in an ensign's uniform came into the chamber. Stopping halfway between the doorway and the council table, the ensign gave a bow to the king and prince, before addressing Martin directly.

"My Lord Admiral Daelahn has made the ships ready, Your Highness," he said strongly. "He asked that you be informed the tide will change within the hour."

"Then we don't have much time," Martin smiled and stood again from his seat to address the youngster. "Thank-you, Ensign…?"

"Ensign Loreley, Your Highness," the young otter replied with another bow. "Loreley, son of Syr Janon of Falinery, sire."

"Very good, Loreley," Martin said plainly and picked up his blade from the table to silently conclude the council meeting. "Please inform the admiral the Guard will be there momentarily."

The ensign bowed for the third time, backing away four steps, before turning on his heel to stride out of the Council Chambers. Martin gave a few more instructions to the lieutenants staying behind and with a formal leave from the king, turned to the mouse and squirrel waiting for him to the right of the door. Martin grinned at their serious faces and walked up to them in full confidence. Klein and Olan bowed their heads at the prince's approach, causing Martin to give a light chuckle before clapping them both heartily on the backs.

Giving each of their shoulders a reassuring squeeze, the young captain chortled, "Shall we have a race to see who can get their ship and troops loaded the quickest?"

* * *

Martin stood on the bow of Eutrusia's flagship, _Mawredd_, as the mighty ship pushed herself through the growing waves of the sea. He loved the feel of the sea breeze and the spray from the waves breaking against the hull on his face. When he was a small mouselet he would often accompany his father on the ship and more than once he sent the crew into hysterics when he would climb over the riggings and lay on his belly on the bowsprit watching the water break over the stem. Matthias would just laugh at his courageous son and say that it was a good thing he knew how to swim. Martin smiled at the fond memory. How he loved the sea!

He was formally clad in a shining breastplate and billowing red cloak, distinguishing him as Captain of the Royal Guard. His left paw rested upon his sword hilt where it was sheathed at his side and in his right he held the rose gold coronet of Eutrusia's Etifedd. His parents had insisted he wear it for the ceremonial send off, but as soon as his paws touched the main deck, Martin had taken the coronet off. He knew he was a creature of two beasts, but one this journey, he only needed to be one.

Hearing the admiral shouting orders to the crew to drop the main sails, Martin turned and made his way towards the quarter deck.

"Your Highness!" Admiral Daelahn called as Martin bound easily up the steps to the quarter deck. "The wind is in our favour. I've ordered the sails t'full rope, Highness."

"Good," Martin mused and nodded to the otter as he reached the top plank. "May the Seasons grant us a fair winds and smooth waters."

"Yes, Your Highness," the admiral replied, turning the wheel to shift the mighty vessel to her course.

"Enough with the formality, Admiral," Martin chuckled walking to the back of the quarter deck to the Royal Cabin and tossing his coronet across the chamber to land on the turned down bed. "I'm simply a captain on this journey."

"Right," the otter drawled out and shouted another order to the crew. Expertly, the admiral watched the sails as he turned the helm until he saw the wind push strongly into the canvas. "With this stiff breeze, we should reach the Nilhand in two days, your… Captain."

"All the better," Martin smiled and leaned over the railing to watch the other two ships skimming behind them on the starboard side. "They're not going to keep up, Daelahn."

"No, but we can let ol' _Mawredd_ stretch her legs a bit then back her off," he chuckled. "A quick departure makes for a faster return; or so your grandfather used t'say!"

"Ha!" Martin laughed and turned his attention back to the main deck where the Guard was moving up and down to the quarters below deck. "What did my grandfather used to say?"

"Well, your… Captain," the admiral corrected when Martin gave him a stern look. "Your grandfather Martin used t'have the oddest saying… what was it now? Ah yes! Now I remember.

"'Quicker t'battle, easy ta war. Through feast and famine, we'll come home once more!'"

"What was that supposed to mean?" Martin asked and snorted comically as he saw a few of the newest Guards run to the railing and retch over the side.

"I think he was always in a hurry t'get ta battle so he could defeat his opponent and come home again," the Daelahn sighed. "He was always wanting t'go home ta, well, Her Majesty, your mother, and your grandmother, Dame Branlin. When he was home, he could just be the beast he wanted t'be and not the creature he had ta become."

Martin nodded as he continued to watch the few Guards drop to the deck holding their stomachs.

"I think I'll go offer those poor beasts some water," Martin chuckled as more Guards lined the outer railing. "I suppose I take it for granted that I have firm seapaws when I planned this transportation."

"They'll get their paws soon enough, Your… er, Captain," the admiral laughed. "Order 'em below deck and put 'em in a hammock. Ol' _Mawredd_ here will her babes t'sleep soon enough."

* * *

By nightfall, they had slowed down their pace for the other ships to catch up and the Guards had found their seapaws. Martin insisted they all ate a hearty meal of vegetable stew, salted cod and flax bread, determined he was going to keep their spirits high. Breaking open an ale keg himself, the prince handed out mugs of the frothy brew to each of the fighters, conversing and getting to know each of them. He felt at home amongst the Guard. He felt like he belonged. There was no pomp or formality. No gallant gestures or greetings he had to remember. He only needed to remember each beast's name and where they were in his formation.

With their stomachs full and their mugs brimming with brew, it didn't take long for the air to be merry and laughter echo to the stars far above the sails. Some of the crew beasts started playing a tune on some upturned buckets and a few homemade reed flutes. Martin was surprised when a mouse, not much order than himself, got to his footpaws and started singing an airy tune about a great warrior whose love was lost in the mist.

"Augh, no more o' that lovey stuff, Cam!" Loukin yelled from where he was leaning against the Admiral's cabin beside Martin. "Sing something to lighten our hearts up!"

"And I suppose you could do better?" the mouse laughed, taking his flagon back from a friend and gestured to the open deck from where he sang his melody.

"Aye!" Loukin chuckled and took another gulp of his ale and handed his mug to Martin. "Get those drums going- move those paws. Get a'stomppin' on the deck and a'clappin' in the air. This song is best sung with some noise!"

Martin laughed as the veteran started jumping round the circle to the beat, encouraging the others around him to pick up on his excitement before starting his song.

"When I was a lad,  
I did see many things go  
The to and from and afterwards of battles!  
And I never could decide  
If to see with my own eyes,  
Would make the vict'ry sweeter  
Than the pain felt!  
When then it was my time,  
And I fell into the line,  
I felt the angst and hopelessness before me!  
Then a brave smile I felt,  
And my worries they did melt.  
We could not fail at all with his bravery!  
So you walk the dirt path,  
And I'll swim the streambed,  
And I'll get to the dark Gates before you!  
With a sword held in my paw,  
And my love upon my arm,  
And no pain to struggle through in the morning!"

Guard and crew alike were thumping along as the otter continued his verses. A few of them stood and danced through a wheel, all of them raising their voices to sing the chorus as it came around in turn.

Martin chuckled as he watched the camaraderie before him. Looking up at the quarter deck he saw the Admiral still at the wheel, smirking at the scene below him. Martin smiled and set down his mugs on a barrel, before climbing the stairs to be with the otter. They both shared a quiet smile and watched the creatures' revelry on the main deck.

"Their morale is high, Captain," the Daelahn nodded when Martin leaned on the railing.

"It's a good thing," the admiral continued when Martin looked over his shoulder at his statement. "We should be at the northern docks by nightfall tomorrow."

"Yes," Martin sighed, turning away from the lower deck and gazing out into the calm waters. "Once we have landed, the Guard will empty as quickly as we can. Then you should take the ships back out to sea. They won't do a beast any good if the Nilhanders try and torch them."

"But what if you need a quick escape?" the otter pressed, eyeing the prince cautiously. "I may not be able to get them to turn round the head to get you if the tide is not high."

"We won't need a quick escape, Daelahn," Martin said plainly. "We will either go home with peace or not at all."

The admiral nodded in acknowledgement. Apart from their conversation earlier that afternoon, he had never really talked to his prince in private before, but had only every conversed with the royal mouse when he was with his father, and in that, the Daelahn's attention had been on the king. He was easily warming up to the young Etifedd. He was brave and exhibited sound judgement and the otter couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of safety when he was around him.

Secretly, the admiral wondered if the rumours about him were true. All through Aurelius they were calling him the Red Prince. He had heard from some of the Guard who had been on the beach the day they pulled the fighting prince home that his eyes were bright red while he fought against the corsairs. What a sight it would have been to see!

Their last Captain of the Guard, Martin's grandsire, had also had the red eyes and though the admiral had taken him on several occasions to and from battle, he never saw him fight. But that Martin was only a Captain. This Martin was Eutrusia's prince as well as their Captain of the Royal Guard. No longer would royalty sit behind the lines and wait for the final charge of victory. This mouse would lead his Guard into battle. The idea of it inspired him with hope and pride. The Red Prince would lead them to victory. He knew it.

"Well, Admiral," Martin said giving him a hearty slap on the back. "I'm off to bed. I'll be up again before dawn."

"Aye, Captain," the Admiral chuckled at Martin's ease and relaxed protocol. King Matthias would never have acknowledged him so equally. "I'll get the crew to hush up."

"No need," Martin winked as he strode towards the Royal Cabin off the quarter deck. "I can sleep through it just fine. Let them have their songs. We'll be without them soon enough."

"As you wish, sire," Daelahn nodded and tilted his head towards the prince. "G'night, High- er, Captain."

"Good evening, Lord Admiral," Martin replied formally, stepping through the entrance and closing the door to the cabin. The moon illuminated through the large windows at the rear, casting a bluing light over the furnishing of the chamber. Martin sighed and walked over to where his armour was placed on a stand and unsheathed his jewelled sword from its scabbard. Circling it with a twist of his wrist, he frowned when the blade hesitated on its way up. The balance was still off despite Martin prying some of the emeralds out of the hilt. Sighing, he put the blade back in its sheath and went to the flat chest he had insisted accompany him to war. It had puzzled every beast as to why he had packed a chest and not just simply a haversack for their journey, but Martin had his own reason.

Opening the lid he dug through his tunics and shirts to the bottom where his paw came in contact with a familiar item. The prince smiled at the feel of the worn leather handle and pulled out his grandsire's sword.

"You didn't think I would leave you behind, did you?" Martin chuckled to the blade. Taking the sword from its scabbard, Martin twisted his wrist and relished the speed in which the blade traveled its way up to the top of the circle. That was how a sword should respond to movements. Decisively. Dangerously. Without hesitation.

Martin placed the sword back in its sheath and laid it beside his armour. It would be the sword he would carry into battle. He tapped the blade on the hilt and grinned at it before undoing the buckles holding his breastplate and cape to his body. Discarding the items carefully on the stand, the prince took a woollen blanket from the bed to drape over his shoulders and walked over to settle himself on a large chair looking out of the windows. Quietly, he closed his eyes and listened to the songs out on the deck and tried to think of his battle strategy, but his mind wandered to earlier that day when he made his goodbyes to his family. His parents had formally farewelled him and wished him luck in battle, but it was Malina's goodbye that stuck in his mind.

She hadn't been present during the official send off, but then she didn't need to be. She was only a princess and did not have any command on what he was about to do, but Martin had thought she would have wanted to see him off. It stung him slightly when he noticed she wasn't there. A sting that didn't last long...

"_You'll keep yourself safe won't you?" a soft voice whispered behind him and Martin inspected a bundle of spears on the dock by _Mawredd's_ ramp. He smiled at the familiar tone._

_"Probably not," Martin jested and turned around to face her. She was clad in a long russet cloak to hide her identity, its hood pulled up high over her headfur. "But that doesn't mean I'll be hurt."_

_"Don't get hurt Martin," Malina breathed, looking up at him anxiously. "Please Martin, don't get hurt."_

_"It's not exactly a goal," Martin laughed. "But it's war Malina. Injuries happen."_

_Malina shook her head and rolled her eyes at him._

_"Is everything a jest to you?" Malina countered, her paws visibly wringing beneath her cloak. "Are you not afraid?"_

_"No," Martin chuckled. "Why are you?"_

_"Yes," Malina said quietly, looking at her footpaws. "I am."_

_"Why?" Martin asked softly and brought her chin up to look at him with his paw. Seeing worry reflecting in her eyes, he whispered, "You should never feel frightened when I'm around Malina. I will always protect you."_

_"But you won't be around," Malina whispered back. "You're leaving…"_

_"To keep you safe," Martin affirmed. "Sometimes Malina, we must travel far to protect the ones closest to us."_

_"Do you always say the right thing?" Malina laughed and gave him a bright smile._

_"Are you ever where you are should be?" Martin chuckled at her and gestured to their surroundings; a dockyard full of soldiers and crew beasts. Not a very appropriate place for a princess to be seen- an unescorted princess at that._

_"What do you think?" Malina winked at him before turning when a sailor gave a loud shout in warning for a runaway water barrel heading in their direction._

_Malina was bumped by the rolling barrel and she fell forward into Martin's arms. Effortlessly, he pulled her up and held her to his body. Staring down into her soft green eyes he smiled at her astonished expression._

_"You are never where you should be," he chuckled at her and lightly brushed a piece of her headfur back from where it had fallen loose. "But you always seem to be where I am," he added in a low whisper, as he gently ran his paw down her cheek. "So soft, Malina."_

_She could only look at him. He held her so lightly, but so securely in his paws. He bore a soft smile on his handsome face and his bright blue eyes burrowed their way into her heart. She felt her heart beat faster, the longer he held her._

_Martin let his paw trace the line of her jaw before stopping at the center of her chin. Without thinking, Martin let his finger touch her lips, pulling her bottom one into a slight pout. He drew a short intake of breath when she inhaled deeply at his action and raise her eyes to him lovingly. Martin continued to look at her lips, her soft warm lips and began to wonder what they would feel like on his. His own eyes narrowed as he realized he wanted to kiss her._

Stop thinking like that_, Martin berated himself. He knew he should let her go now that she had her footing, but he couldn't. He wanted to hold her tight; he didn't care anymore about what he should do and started feeling only what he wanted to do. Gently, Martin took Malina's face in both his paws and slowly lowered his face to hers._

_"Your Highness, the tide won't wait!" the Admiral shouted down to him, breaking Martin's train of thought and causing him to straighten up abruptly. "You can kiss your doxy when we get back, your Highness- the sea is calling!"_

_"I have to go," Martin whispered to her, reluctantly letting go of her face as Malina pulled the cloak hood further forward to hide her features. "Wish me luck?"_

_"I wish you all the luck in Eutrusia," Malina breathed, flustered at his actions. Martin always been so proper with her, but did he just almost kiss her?_

_"Seasons speed your journey, Martin," Malina continued as her words came back to her slowly. Backing away from him hesitantly, the princess slipped seemingly into the crowd and disappeared quickly amongst the other creatures..._

_You always where you shouldn't be,_ Martin mused, coming out of his memory and letting the gentle sway of the ship slowly rock him to sleep. _You shouldn't be there, but you are always in my heart._

* * *

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	11. The Calm before the Storm

**Chapter 10- The Calm before the Storm**

Martin awoke to shouts and the sound of running footpaws along the quarter deck. He could hear Admiral Daelahn yelling orders to the crew and calling for a beast to flag the other Eutrusian vessels before paw rapped loudly on his cabin door.

"Captain, there are ships off t'port!"

Martin jumped from his chair, tossing his blanket aside and striding over to his armour while rubbing his eyes against the dim light reflecting off the seawater through his windows and pushing sleep from his mind. Quickly, he settled his red cloak about his shoulders, grabbing his sword from his stand and buckling the scabbard to his belt before leaving the cabin into the brisk morning air.

The ship was a flurry of activity as creatures scurried about to obey the admiral's orders; climbing riggings, hauling on ropes and drawing in _Mawredd's_ golden sails to slow the ship's forward motion.

"Captain- ships off the port bow," Admiral Daelahn said sharply directing Martin's gaze out to sea where two ships a league from the small fleet could be seen moving slowly north. The prince crossed the deck to the railing and squinted his eyes briefly before Ensign Loreley held up a brass spyglass for the royal mouse. Without a word, Martin accepted the scope and held it to his eye to view the horizon. The ships had gray sails similar to the ones on the small vessel the corsairs had that he and Malina encountered on the beach. He could feel his teeth clench and the excitement start to stir in him again.

"Where did they come from?" Martin asked pointedly, holding the spyglass out for Loreley to collect and turning his full attention to the otter.

"Further out t'sea by the looks of the riggings," the admiral replied knowingly. "They were headed straight for us 'til they saw _Mawredd's_ gold sails then turned their rudder north. They don't want t'engage us."

"Strange," Martin mused leaning on the railing and clenching the wood with his paws, the sea breeze whipping his cloak about his body. "If they're corsairs, you think they would have relished the idea of battling us at sea."

"They have in the past," Daelahn sighed. Pausing for a moment to see if Martin responded, the sea otter shook his head and pointed a claw at the masts. "I've given the order t'raise the sails and let them go ahead of us t'get some distance between us…"

"No, push ahead," Martin countered, tapping the polished railing four times with his paw in anticipation before turning back to the helm. "If they were going to fight us, they would have done so already and we have our own agenda to keep."

"But Captain…"

"Full sail, Admiral," Martin commanded. "Bring her hard to starboard and keep her close to the shoreline.

"All paws to the main deck!" Martin yelled to the crewbeasts and moved to lean over the quarter deck railing for all to see him. Seeing some of the Guard starting to climb out of the ship's hatch, he ordered, "Guards to the side rails with arrows and a torch every three beasts. Make ready, but hold fire until my call."

Turning back to the admiral, the prince added sternly, "If they turn on us, we'll be ready, but I must get to the north with all speed, Admiral."

"As you command, Captain," the sea otter nodded and began shouting his orders to drop the sails again.

"Loukin!" Martin called to the otter from where he stood by the main mast. "Up into the nest with you- don't lose sight of those ships. I want to know where they are going."

"Aye, Captain," the otter chimed and threw Martin a quick salute before turning to climb the riggings to the admiral's steady commands.

"Paws to the ropes and hoist the gallant- Pull t'scapper and let loose the staysail! Work your back an' her for speed, mates!"

* * *

"Plains be cursed," Baron Ulran growled as he read the ending of the missive in his paws, its heavy silver rollers and red wax seal identifying it as a royal message. "Damn the Fates' to their own fires!"

"Is something wrong, my lord baron?" a serving beast asked as he laid out a tray of pastries and fruit for the baron's morning meal on the rounded table in Ulran's private chambers. "Is there something I can get for you?"

"Summon Syr Fendrel to the Great Hall immediately," Ulran snapped and reached for his overrobe that was resting over the back of his chair. "And where is that son of mine? Where is Lord Ulrick?"

"Lord Ulrick is already in the hall breaking his fast with the Lady Ulyssa, my lord baron," the servant replied dutifully. "I will go directly to Syr Fendrel…"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Ulran thundered. "Go _now!"_

"Ulran, what is all the yelling about?" a soft voice whispered when the door closed quickly behind the scurrying creature. Ulran sighed and turned to the screen which closed off the sleeping quarters from the sitting area of the baron's private chambers to see his wife pulling a dressing robe over her night gown.

"Dalila, you aren't supposed to be out of bed!" Ulran gasped and strode forward to gently guide her back onto the mattress again. "You know what the healers said- you have to stay off your paws…"

"You were yelling," the mousemaid breathed and smiled contently as she rested her weakened body against the mound of pillows. "I thought something was wrong."

"It's nothing for you to worry about, Lila," Ulran said softly and pulled the covers up over her legs. "Kirk brought up some breakfast," the baron continued, changing the subject completely while he opened up a window for fresh air and began picking up vials from their holder to look for one not yet used. "And there's some peach cordial still left from…"

"Ulran, no more of those tinctures," Dalila retorted when he found a full tube and uncorked it. "They just make me sleep…"

"Which is what you need to do to recover," the baron countered and held out the vial for her. At her hesitation, he grinned and added, "Come on Dalila- drink this and I will tell your pawmaids you are still asleep and no beast will bother you until noontide."

"You drive a hard bargain," the baroness grinned lightly and glanced at the side table where a thick volume rested. "You just know I am at a good spot."

"Perhaps," Ulran chuckled and sat down on the side of the bed still holding the vial. "What is it with your family that you all like to read so much? Between you and your brother, the whole of Eutrusia's archives have been read!"

"Matthias and I like literature," Dalila replied gently. "We always have."

"Well, I suppose it's your mirth," Ulran said happily and kissed her forehead. "Please Lila, drink this. For me."

"After you tell me what my brother wants that has you cursing like a fieldpaw," she said plainly and pointed a thin claw at the scroll in Ulran's other paw.

"It's from your nephew actually."

"Martin?"

"Yes," Ulran sighed and corked the vial before placing it on the table so he could rub his face in obvious stress. "He writes to tell me to look to my borders and arm my fighters. The king sent up another envoy to Nilhand and he was killed. The prince has assembled the Royal Guard and is on his way north to deal with the rebels as we speak."

"Is it that serious?" Dalila asked and tried to sit up before Ulran gently pushed her down again. "Matthias didn't march as well, did he?"

"No. He is at Vasilis acting as Captain Intern while Martin is in Nilhand."

"Good," the baroness whispered and relaxed slightly. "Seasons guard my nephew from harm.

"You're worried," she continued when Ulran nodded and started to pace about richly furnished chamber of Lysium's baronial quarters. "Why?"

"I can't help but wonder if this could have been avoided if I had gone north myself," Ulran confessed. "I have a feeling my decision to send Ulrick in my stead was…"

"Rash? Impulsive?" Dalila started to list.

"Like my father," Ulran grimaced at the words. "My father would have taken the king's orders and manipulated them to his way- just as I did.

"Ah, I should have told him," he continued and made a swatting motion at the open air. "I should have written to Matthias to let him know I couldn't go; that you were ill again. But I just didn't think there was time. I didn't think it would be a difficult mission and Ulrick would have been able to handle it fine. I thought surely with the weight of responsibility from a royal assignment would make him use tact."

"But Ulran, your son said the northerners were difficult, not violent," Dalila countered. "How would you have known what was to come?"

"The Nilhander's may have been difficult with Ulrick, but what did he do to turn them violent?" Ulran relented. "He was always one to believe force was the way to get his needs. I am afraid of what he _hasn't_ told me."

"Ulrick would lie to you- his own father?"

"Oh no, Lila," Ulran chortled despite the seriousness of the conversation. "He wouldn't _lie;_ he'd just perhaps fail to mention a few _minor_ details. Don't forget, my dear, he was primarily raised by my father and sister. Caralyn died birthing him and I was off fighting with your brother against the rebellion. I should have brought him with me to Aurelius when I remained at court to try and patch up political holes the uprising cost my family, but I thought at the time it was best for him to be raised in Eurus- in his own state. It wasn't until Matthias allowed me to wed you after your Lord Aarod died, I knew there was royal trust in our family again and I could return home."

"Ulran, he was still young when we came to Lysium," Dalila said softly. "You employed all the correct tutors and…"

"Lila, Ulrick was only six seasons when we came back here. He should have relished in the idea of a mother- real or step, it shouldn't have mattered to him. Instead of a hug and a kiss, he greeted you with a frown and a haughty _my lady_. He didn't even use your true title…"

"He did," she chuckled. "You were still a lord, Ulran- your father still ruled the baronage. I was simply a _lady_."

"He should have addressed you as _your highness_- you were a princess…"

"I _was_, yes. But once I married you, I became your wife, your _lady._"

"I'm trying to point out the fact those words were straight out of my sister's mouth," Ulran said firmly. "After Matthias married Valina… well, neither Ulyssa nor my father would… could let go of their resentment and dripped poison in Ulrick's ears from both sides; the mutterings of a failed schemer in one and the whispers of a disgruntled harpy in the other.

"So, to get back to your original question; no, I don't think Ulrick would lie to me, but he would only tell me as much as he thought I needed to know."

Dalila exhaled slowly and watched Ulran march about the room, his brow furrowed in deep creases and his paws clenching and unclenching behind his back as he thought. She knew herself Neron and Ulyssa had warped her stepson's way of thinking, but what could Ulran have done when he didn't know they would do such a thing as corrupt the mind of his son? Both she and Ulran hoped desperately that Ulrick's marriage to Malina would be enough to satisfy the fire in the young lord by giving him a stake in the royal family he so ardently sot.

"I have to go meet Syr Fendrel and organize the fighters and border holds," Ulran said plainly and turned back to his wife where she smiled softly to him in the morning light. Settling back down on the bed, the baron took her paws in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Please drink the tincture, Lila. Please rest and please, Seasons please, get better soon. Lysium needs its baroness to make the days bright and warm. Without you, the plains will fail to grow their crops and too much rain will come. I can't govern Eurus without you. I need my princess by my side."

"I will rest, Ulran," Dalila smiled and pulled his paws up to her lips to lay on them a soft kiss. "Give me a week or two and I will be better. I promise."

Giving a little giggle, she added with a wink, "At least while I'm ill I won't have to suffer the company of your sister!"

* * *

Martin stayed on the quarter deck throughout the day watching the two galleys pushing north a league away from the small royal fleet. All around him was activity, but he barely acknowledged it; Martin's attention was focused on the corsairs.

"Where do you suppose they are going?" Martin asked as the admiral came up beside him at midday and offered him a beaker of warmed wine. The air was getting colder and they could see their breath now as proof of their northern voyage. In the distance to the east, tall mountain peaks could be seen jetting out of dense forests towards the sky like spearheads- a sure sign they were now firmly in the state of Nilhand.

"I'm not sure, Your Highness," Daelahn replied, forgetting Martin's wish to be addressed as Captain. "But judging by the waves, we're close to the merchant docks."

"The waves?" Martin questioned and looked down at the white caps forming on the waters below them.

"Aye," the admiral winked. "Seas get rougher the further north you go."

"I thought you said we'd be there at nightfall?"

"We're in t'current traveling this close inland," the otter stated plainly and took a drink of his own beaker. Clicking his tongue at the spices, he asked, "You still want us t'shove off once you're unloaded?"

"Yes," Martin said strongly, taking sip of his drink as well. "Stay off the current and keep out of range. If you do not see our banners in four days, sail south and tell my father to look to Eutrusia's safety."

The admiral simply nodded in response.

"Where are they going?" Martin sighed with a slight growl as he looked forward towards the gray ships again. "Do you recognize their colours, Daelahn?"

"They have the same sails as those from t'galley you faced in Aurelius," he replied. "But no, Captain; I don't know their colours."

"I would love to follow them," Martin breathed, letting his hackles rise and his voice drop. He wanted to fight and there in front of him was an easy battle. He felt himself craving the red in his eyes.

"Are you alright, Captain?" Daelahn quietly as he watched Martin's demeanour start to change from the carefree mouse he had laughed with earlier to one of serious and precarious conduct.

"I'm fine," Martin snapped, holding the beaker tightly in his paws and closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath he corrected his tone. "I'm fine, Lord Admiral."

"Admiral Daelahn!" an otter cadet yelled down from the nest at the top of the mainmast where he stood beside Loukin. "Northern docks off the starboard bow!"

"Loukin, where are those gray ships headed?" Martin called to the fighter after the admiral started giving orders to bring the ship to port and Loukin climbed down the riggings.

"Still on a course north, Your Highness!" Loukin replied as he ascended the steps to the quarter deck. "Looks like we're going to lose them."

Martin snorted in frustration and strode back to the Royal cabin, slamming the door behind him. Striding over to his armour, Martin discarded his cloak and jerkin and started buckling on his plates. By the time he was on his greaves there was a slight knock at the door.

"Come!" Martin called in a loud voice. Seeing Loukin come through the doorway, Martin gave him a curt nodded and picked up his other greave to begin fixing it to his leg. "Prepare the Guard, Loukin. As soon as the ships are docked, we march inland."

"Aye, Captain," the otter said, moving slowly towards the young mouse. "Are you alright, Your Highness?"

"Why does every beast think there is something wrong with me?" Martin growled. "I'm fine, Loukin. See to your duties."

"I am, Captain," Loukin breathed. "I'm your shield beast."

"My what?"

"Your shield beast," Loukin smiled as he helped fix Martin's cloak to his breastplate. "I will be on your shield arm come the battle charge. I need to make sure you are ready."

"I'm ready, Loukin," Martin breathed.

"Did he ever tell you?" the otter whispered apprehensively in the awkward silence that followed. "Did your grandsire ever tell you how to control it?"

Martin gave the otter a puzzled look. "I know how from the legend."

"But _he_ never told you how to stop your bloodwrath?" Loukin pressed. "How to calm your mists?"

"I was too young when he died," Martin confessed slowly. "At that time they weren't sure if… well, why are you asking me these things?" Martin asked pointedly. He felt strange about talking about his bloodwrath with the Guard. Shield beast or not, Martin barely understood the gift himself, let alone having to explain it to the otter.

"I need to know what your memory is…"

"Memory?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Loukin said gently. "The word or phrase or something that makes you stop your bloodwrath.

"I need to know, Captain," Loukin continued. "I need to know what to remind you of to bring you out of your mists when the battle is won."

"I don't understand, Loukin," Martin said shaking his head. "Won't I just stop like I did last time?"

"Not if there's still an enemy," the otter replied. "You'll keep going unless you can pull yourself back. But if you fail yourself and can't control it, I need to remind you of your memory to help you stop. It's my responsibility."

Martin sighed and buckled his sword belt above his hip plates in silence.

"Your memory, Your Highness?" Loukin implored as he heard the calls of the crew as _Mawredd_ pulled alongside the docks.

"I…"

"Something greater than yourself," Loukin said quickly. "Something you will want to return to…"

_Malina,_ Martin thought to himself. How could he tell Loukin that? He could barely let his heart tell his own mind…

"Oranges and cloves," Martin responded after a moment of thought. "Just remind me about oranges and cloves."

"Oranges and cloves?" Loukin gaped and skewed up his nose in confusion. "Oranges and… and cloves?"

Martin nodded. "Yes, Loukin. Oranges and cloves."

"Sounds… great."

"Yes," Martin smirked at the stunned otter's response. To any other beast it must sound like an absurd combination, but to Martin, hearing those to words would always remind him of Malina when she kissed him on the forehead while he was injured and her headfur feel all around him- when he dream of… more.

Patting the bemused otter on the shoulder, Martin gave him a brave smile. "Come Loukin. Quicker to battle, easy to war. Through feast and famine, we'll come home once more."

* * *

They pushed east through the night, Martin marching the Guard hard to get to the plain he denoted as their battlefield.

"I want the banners raised and standards flying by dawn," he commanded when they reached their position. "I want every Nilhander scout and watch beast to see we are here at morning's first light."

By morning they were set. The red and gold banners bearing the Eutrusian crest of sword and scroll fluttered in the strong breeze and their tents spanned a wide berth crossway down the plain. Every beast waited in quiet anticipation for a reaction. They didn't have to wait long.

By midday they started noticing movement across the plain, small at first, but distinct. By dusk there were definite creatures situated before them.

"Do we send out a negotiator, Your Highness?" Olan asked as the lieutenants sat with Martin around a fire the following evening eating a hastened meal of river shrimp and spice cake.

"No," Martin said sternly, shaking his head. "There will be more of them by morning. Besides they must not have a senior officer in their midst yet or they would already have come to us."

"We'll light extra fires tonight," Klein stated. "Make them think that our numbers are greater than they really are."

Martin nodded his agreement and leaned back on his elbows.

"Will we march on them in the morning, Your Highness?" Olan asked, anxiously wanting to know the young mouse's plan now that they were at battle.

"No, Olan," Martin laughed. "And call me Captain, please. While we're on a march I am your Captain of the Guard first and a prince second."

"If you insist, your… Captain," Olan replied. "But Captain, if what are we going to do if we are not going to fight them?"

"There is more than one way to stop a rebellion, Olan," Martin sighed and stretched his footpaws towards the fire. "I am still struggling with the idea of fighting my fellow Eutrusians. If I can avoid a fight, I will."

"But Captain, they have already killed your father's envoys," Klein pointed out. "I would have to say they are not interested in idle talk."

"Yes, I'm sure they've heard enough of pompous messengers telling them how they ought to conform," Martin chuckled. "But I am not interested in telling them _how_ to act, but rather find out _why_ they are acting this way and find a solution."

"So, we aren't for battle then," Olan asked, trying to wrap his head around Martin's reasoning. "Forgive me Captain, but at the palace…"

"At Vasilis I asserted that I would move the Guard north and end the resistance," Martin voiced sternly, becoming annoyed that he was being questioned. "I will try to dissolve the rebellion without force if I can, but if it comes down to it, we will stand against them."

"Spoken with wisdom beyond your seasons, Prince Martin," Klein praised him and smiled approvingly as the prince pushed himself back up into a sitting position.

"Get some rest," Martin commanded, getting to his footpaws and pulling his cloak tighter to his body to ward off the northern chill. "We will need to meet with them at dawn."

The lieutenants nodded and watched as Martin walked towards his pavilion and slipped under the tent flap.

"Young fool is going to get us killed," he hissed towards Klein. "And you encourage him."

"I'm interested to see how he will make this work," Klein chuckled to himself and rubbed his paws together to encourage them to absorb more heat from the flames. "Relax, Olan. We have the Red Prince on our side."

"He is young," Olan countered. "He's never even seen a _real_ battle…"

"He'll be fine once his paws are wet. Give him a chance. You may be surprised."

"And you may end up dead," Olan growled at the mouse. "His grandfather would never…"

"Never have thought to talk to his enemy?" Klein mused and wiggled about trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. "No, he gets that from his father. King Matthias sent two envoys up here before he chose to involve his son."

"He should have sent us up here first," Olan huffed and pulled his cloak up further around his shoulders. "We could have stopped them before they grew so large…"

"Oh, and slicing a few farmers' throats would have made the others stop their grumbling?" Klein laughed. "Olan, go get some sleep before you dig yourself a hole even your ruddy tail can't climb out of!"

"I'm telling you…"

"You are telling me nothing but jabbering at this point!" Klein said angrily and got to his footpaws to order more fires built around the camp. "Get some sleep, Olan. Tomorrow will be a long day."

* * *

**So this chapter was roughly the same, apart from the little segment with Ulran and Dalila which explains a little bit more of Ulrick's character than the previous version did. It also reaffirms later loyalties and trust between Matthias and Ulran... but enough of that now. Oh and of course...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	12. Battle Met

**Chapter 11- Battle Met**

Captain Talt was a miserable old salt. The searat was known for his quick temper, hidden daggers and left-paw flagon throws. For seasons he had asserted himself as a master sailor amongst vermin of the southern waters of the Western Sea and quickly acquired the possessions of a commodore; boosting three ships and crews in addition to his own under his command. Clad all in black from his head to tail tip, the rat strode over the main deck of the galley as a stoat was whipping the oarslaves into punting the ships over the sandbar at the inlet of the river.

"Push 'em hard, Clawfang," Talt ordered as the lash cracked against the fur of an old hedgehog. "The jewels not be waiting fer us. We needs t'get 'em 'n get back t'sea with all haste."

It was a dangerous enough mission to travel within range of the Eutrusian fleet, but to enter the realm itself was tempting the very Fates. Still the prize they could get was worth the risk.

"Harsk!" the captain shouted to the stem where a short weasel was staring down the river and seemingly taking in the scenery. "Where be t'place ya found them stones?"

"Down the river a'ways, Cap'n," Harsk replied. "Me 'n Flattail found the mice loadin' 'em up on a barge further inland. We's snitched the chest afore they cou'd catch us."

"'Ell keep a weather'd eye out," Talt snarled out the order and turned back to the captain's quarters on the deck. "Tat be t'royal fleet tat tailed us up 'ere 'n I wanna be in 'n out t'gain afore they march inlan' at us. Pausing at the door, the searat growled over his shoulder.

"Get us offa this bar o' y'all be drinkin' bilge fer another week, ya lazy woodsscum!"

Everybeast holding an oar grunted in renewed exertion.

* * *

The sun rose red in the eastern sky, illuminating the Guard with pink hues as they marched out in formation towards the growing number of creatures across the plain. Forward they walked in time to the beats of the war drums and the steady bays from the Eutrusian triple-belled horns. The Royal Guard in full battle regalia was a sight to behold; each beast wore a full coat of chainmail and breastplate, a shield in one paw and a spear in the other. For close combat they were armed with the paw weapon of their choice; swords, axes, double tipped javelins- whatever their strength was. Above the mass of steel and fur, large standards proudly displayed the royal crest and long banners streamed like red tails across the sky. Onwards they marched towards the ragtag group of rebels, their chinks clinking with their motion, their footpaws striking the ground harder than normal to shake the ground and their arms held slightly wider than necessary to stretch out the line further and give the aura they were greater in number than they were.

Martin strode out bravely before the Guard wearing his full battle armour and Etifedd's coronet. His armour was polished to a high shine and every movement emulated a glint of sunlight from his plates. Beneath his armour, the prince wore a bronze chainmail shirt which matched the rose gold of his coronet and enhanced the red of his battle cloak clipped to his shoulders. The prince rested his left paw on his sword's pommel while his right clenched and unclenched in anticipation of the battle ahead. Unlike his battle with the corsairs on the beach, this fight did not depend on his will to fight, but rather his decision to. It was his decision to lead the Guard in whichever choice he made and he was nervous as to which he would make.

Before them a small group of rebels broke from their line and started striding towards the Guard over the tall grasses of the field. Martin held up his paw to signal the army to halt, taking a deep breath himself and stepping forward to meet them. On his right walked Klein and his standard bearer, on his left Loukin and Olan. With each step they drew closer to each other and with every stride Martin could see more and more weapons they were armed with. Simple wooden javelins and hatchet axes were their primary arms, with a few rusted swords and one or two pikes. Despite the Nilhanders meagre weapons, they were visible proof of a battle to come and he could feel his blood quicken and excitement start to stir inside him. Tightening his grip on the hilt, Martin struggled to control his urge to let his blood take control.

_Not yet,_ he reminded himself. _It's not battle yet. I have to keep a clear head._

They stopped when they reached the center of the plain, allowing for the opposing creatures to come to them. Martin couldn't help but smile at the sight of them. They were all humbly clothed farmers. Not a stitch of armour or chainmail between them. But there was a fire in their eyes that told Martin not to doubt their hearts. If pressed, these creatures would fight.

"Well, ain't this a sight t'see!" a strong set squirrel said taking a step ahead of his group. "The Royal Guard o' Eutrusia in full battle armour! Ain't seen the likes o' you in seasons!"

"We came here to ask you to see reason," Martin countered in a loud voice and held his head high. "Put down this rebellion and return to your homes. Let us not shed blood needlessly."

"Needless bloodshed?" the squirrel laughed and slapped his calloused paw to his knee. "That's a good un."

"It will be needless," Martin asserted, narrowing his eyes at the mock. "What will you all gain by dying today?"

"What make you think it's us dyin' t'day? Might be your noble hide that gets skewered."

"You dare talk to a…" Lieutenant Olan started in a growl, but Martin held up his paw to silence him. The squirrel had no idea who he was and Martin wanted to hear what he had to say before realizing he was addressing royalty.

"And you are willing to face the Royal Guard on the field?" Martin asked pointedly. "You are willing to revolt against your king and country just to _skewer_ my hide?"

"We are willing t'fight for our voice!" the rebel replied. "Nilhand is never heard an' we are here t'make 'er shout!"

A cheer came up from the rebellion and Martin saw his sidebeasts stretch up a little straighter while his standard bearer tightened his grip on the banner pole.

"I am here to hear them," Martin stated holding his paws wide. "Speak squirrel and let us put aside these notions of war."

"What are you? An envoy?"

"Do I look like an envoy?"

"Naw, but we've 'ad enough o' talk from beasts who accuse us for something we've not done. The only creature I am interested in talkin' to be t'King himself!"

"I'm afraid you will have to deal with me," Martin said strongly and a bold step forward in challenge. "I am Prince Martin, Etifedd of Eutrusia and Captain of the Royal Guard."

The squirrel narrowed his eyes and for the first time noticed the coronet on Martin's head. He didn't bow or take a step backward, but he did lower his eyes briefly. To Martin's surprise, none of the Nilhanders showed him the respect due to his name. They all just stood their gaping at him like a prized wheat sheave. Seasons of protocol allowed him to hide his astonishment from his face, but Martin's mind was reeling. Had Baron Falcor not instilled any importance of the crown in his creatures? Had they such little faith in his family that they had lost all sense of propriety and respect?

"Bow before royalty, traitor!" Lieutenant Klein bellowed and held out his battle axe at the squirrel. Martin glanced quickly to right and waved the fiercely loyal mouse back.

"Well, now you know my name, Nilhander," Martin stated, addressing the squirrel directly. "What is yours?"

"My name?" the rebel gaped for a moment at the question. Martin raised his eyebrow at the response.

"Why, yes," Martin smiled in spite of himself. "How do you suppose we are to talk if I do not know your name?"

"Nolkin."

"And you are the leader of this… gathering, Nolkin?" Martin pressed.

"We have no leader."

"But you are the one every beast looks to."

"How do you know that?" Nolkin asked, thrown off by Martin's easy manner.

"Just a guess," Martin mused. "Now Nolkin, are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"We are tired of being part of a land whose leaders do not see us as part of it," Nolkin said coldly. "Why should we be a part of Eutrusia if Eutrusia is not part of us?"

"We are all part of Eutrusia," Martin countered strongly. "Every beast. We are all Eutrusians."

"Spoken like a true southerner," Nolkin sneered at him. "When was the last time any o' you royal beasts were up 'ere in the north? I bet you're t'first 'un in an age."

Martin was quiet at that point. Nilhand was not a place they frequented. Martin couldn't remember his own father going north; Wesrus, yes and Eurus occasionally, but never north.

"This is what this rebellion is about?" Martin said shaking his head. "Representation?"

"Inclusion!" Nolkin countered. "If we're not t'be included in the kingdom then we'll make our own kingdom to live in!"

"And conspiring with corsairs will give you that?" Martin snapped, momentarily losing calm countenance he was trying to maintain. "In the name of the King, you will stand down and…"

"I will not listen to any more talk and accusations," the squirrel voiced angrily, holding his paws aloft holding twin paw axes. "We have heard enough of talk and making the choice to back down. Today we choose to fight. Today we fight for our choice."

"Then fight as you may," Martin breathed and let go of his anger. In his own mind he was admonishing himself for his outburst that prompted the fury in the rebel. "But no harm will come to you from my blade."

"Ha! Another royal beast hiding behind t'lines," Nolkin laughed. "And 'ere I thought you were supposed t'be the Captain o' the Guard as well as a royal brattling. The Captain o' the Guard is supposed t'lead the Guard in the charge."

"And I will," Martin affirmed and squared his shoulders bravely.

"But you'll not draw your sword? You'll not use a weapon?" Nolkin asked, thoroughly confused by Martin's statements.

"No."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because like you I have a choice!" Martin yelled and barred his teeth. "You choose to fight for what you believe in, as do I. I believe that we are all Eutrusians and so all brothers. I choose not to draw the blood of family."

"Fool," the squirrel sneered while others behind him let their eyes go wide and they gave each other shifty glances.

"Perhaps I am," Martin shrugged. "But I cannot draw the draw the blood of one of my fellow creatures. You have chosen action over words and I will meet you on the battlefield, but I will do so bare pawed with not but my shield for defense."

Nolkin just stared at the mouse before him. He couldn't tell if the mouse was being courageous or just plain simple. Only time would be able to tell. Giving the royal entourage a curt nod he backed away from them and quickly trotted back to the lines with this group to prepare them for battle.

"Captain, you are being over brave," Klein said sharply as they watched the rebels retreat. "Your Highness, you must use your sword in battle. We know you have gifts, but…"

"This has nothing to do with my gifts, Klein," Martin said strongly and turning on his heel to go back to the Guard. "I cannot fight a Eutrusian. I cannot use a blade on any creature my family has been entrusted to keep safe."

"They do not recognize your family as such, Captain," Olan cried as Martin strode away from them. "They will have your head on a pike by midday if you do not choose to fight."

Martin ignored them and walked off to the formation of Royal Guards before him. His page came forward with his shield and helmet and Martin removed his coronet to don the rest of his arms before placing the rose gold circlet into the groves on the helm. Flipping his visor up, the prince stood bravely in front of the fighters.

"The northerners have rejected a passive term," Martin said loudly. "We will meet them on the field!"

A loud cheer rose from the Guard and they noisily thumped their weapons against their shields. Martin held his paws up to silence them.

"I will lead you in the charge, my friends, but not in arms," Martin stressed. "I will not draw my blade on my fellow Eutrusians."

The Guard looked on at the royal mouse briefly in confusion before glancing around at each other and their lieutenants' stone faces. What was their prince talking about?

"But, Your Highness," an old fighter piped up. "How are you to defend yourself?"

"I will use my shield," Martin said bravely and held the rounded steel before him. "I will not kill my Eutrusian brothers."

To Martin's surprise he was met with a loud cheer in response. He had not felt what he said was inspiring or warranted cheers. He had fully anticipated being called a coward.

It was Loukin who stepped forward first and gave Martin a brisk salute before lowering his pike into the dirt. Pressing the point hard into the ground, the otter kicked down roughly on the shaft, breaking the tip off the long wood. Taking the now simple wood in his paws, he held the shaft as a staff pole, a weapon that could defend, but not meant to draw blood. Martin smiled when the rest of the Guard followed the otter's lead and detipped their spears as well.

Martin began walking down the line of Guard, each of them tapping their poles on his shield as he passed signifying their support. The war drums vibrations of anticipation into the sky while the Eutrusian horns called the Guard to courage. Jaws set and knuckles gripped white in the heavy air that hung above the army, each creature fighting the initial fear of the charge against their bravery as they stared across the plain before them at the hooting and hollering beasts.

"We stand here today my friends, the lesser of two evils," Martin proclaimed in a loud voice over the call of battle. "We will match upon them as our bravery wills us to, but we will have the courage to not draw our arms. Protect yourself and stand proud for Eutrusia, but do not willingly kill your fellow creatures. They are not vermin. They are not evil. We need not send them to Hellsgates."

Martin noticed several of the Guards stiffen and look over the young Captain's shoulder. Martin turned to see Nolkin and his rebels starting to advance on them in a slow measured march. The prince could see red fringing his vision as the excitement of combat coursed through his body. Gritting his teeth, Martin concentrated on not drawing his sword, but instead held his shield aloft as he gave a mighty yell before breaking off into a run across the plain.

"Eutrusia!"


	13. Twin Victories

**Thanks to Shadowed One 19 for the review of the last chapter and Jade Tealeaf who has returned to the review board for The Red Prince! This chapter was for some reason the most difficult thing for me to do (and I have no idea why) so that's why you are getting it so late. Sorry.**

**But to make it up to you, I've started a companion piece for this epic entitled, Behind the Palace Walls. It will include some back stories and deleted scenes that don't make it into the actual telling of the tale, but are important as to why things happen the way they do. **

**So with that little bit of housekeeping out of the way, on to chapter 12...**

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**Chapter 12-Twin Victories**

The two sides fell against each other in a loud crash of metal and wood. Martin used his shield to deflect the initial strikes from the weapons, breath catching in his throat until the ringing of steel and splintering wood ricocheting off his armour registered with him that he was uninjured. Giving a mole a great shove backwards off his shield, Martin glanced at his flanks to see the Guard up beside him pushing forward with their shields and using their butts of their once-tipped spears to beat the rebels back.

Once, twice, the prince blocked a strike from a hatchet before whipping his shield across the snout of the assaulting otter to knock him unconscious. The rebels were untrained and uncalculated in their movements, making their attacks erratic and easily countered. Martin fought strongly, desperately keeping his right paw busy by punching and grabbing at the Nilhanders to fight the urge to draw his sword. No matter how much red burned in his eyes, he would not allow himself to unsheathe his sword. He gave his word. He would not draw blood from a fellow Eutrusian.

Onward the guard pushed, pressing their advantage and driving the rebels onto their heels. Looking to his right, Martin saw Loukin's wooden shaft break and the brave otter toss his shield aside to take both splintered pieces in both paws to use like clubs. He wasn't the only beast to hold his orders; many down the line were in a similar position as they stayed their paws from their arms. They were holding true, but for how long? The prince wondered how long it would be before they were either forced by the heat of battle or their own panic to pull their blade weapons from their holders and break ranks. He had to finish the battle quickly. He had find Nolkin.

Dipping under a sword swing, Martin grasped the wielder on the paw, bending his wrist back with a sickening snap and roughly shoved him aside to see the burly squirrel urging his friends forward and whirling his twin hatchets above his head. Dealing a quick elbow to the mole on his left, Martin swung away from the others and moved into position behind Nolkin as the squirrel moved on a pair of Guards. With great strength Martin grabbed the collar of the squirrel's leather war vest and flung him backwards onto the ground. Instantly, the fighter bound to his feet and wheeled on the mouse, striking forward as he rained down a series of blows with his weapons. Martin took the relentless blows on his shield before quickly diking to the side and shoving the squirrel roughly on the side to off balance him. As Nolkin righted his footing, Martin kicked his knee back with his foot causing the squirrel to yell and lash out with his hatchet. Martin jumped away, but not quick enough. The head cut through the steel of his greave and ran down the mouse's leg before Martin roared in surprise and brought the edge of his shield down hard on the squirrel's paw.

Martin limped back a couple of paces, letting Nolkin to his footpaws and allowing his body adjust to the feel of blood and weakness to leg. With the two leaders circling each other, the rest of the battle eased as the creatures waited to see the outcome.

Nolkin was the first to attack, desperately trying to get past Martin's shield. The mouse held firm against the onslaught, waiting until Nolkin lessened his blows before giving the squirrel a mighty heave backwards. Twice the squirrel tried the same attack and both times Martin was able to push him away.

"Fight me!" the squirrel raged, hitting Martin squarely across the shield with his hatchet.

"I am fighting you!" Martin growled back, gritting his teeth and taking all his strength to resist the urge to draw his sword. He was holding on to his wrath by the barest thread, every fibre of his body screaming to pull the blade from its sheath and kill the beast in front of him. Each breath he took he tried to calm himself, but which every passing moment it was becoming more difficult. The prince's breathing was erratic, pant-like as he battled within himself, grasping the straps of his shield tighter and balling his right paw into such a tight fist he believe he would dent his gauntlets.

"Pick up your weapon!"

"I will not!" Martin countered and pulled his helmet off his head so he could be heard more clearly. "Nolkin, can't you see you are fighting nothing but yourselves?"

"I am fighting for justice!" he snarled back and leapt at Martin, raining his arms down on the batter shield.

"You said it was for inclusion!" Martin grunted, pushing the squirrel backwards again. Both beasts took a moment to catch their breath, eyeing each other warily. "Nolkin, what are you fighting for?"

"You care nothing for the north," the squirrel rallied. "You expect us to abide your rules and yet you 'ave never seen our boarders…"

"I have Nolkin," Martin stated, stretching up. "I am here now… What are you fighting for, my friend?"

"You are not my friend!" Nolkin snarled and charged at Martin again. "I am not a friend of a murdering house!"

Martin waited until the squirrel was upon him before dropping to his knee and flipping Nolkin over top of him with a swift sweep of his shield. Turning quickly on his opponent, Martin struggled inwardly to not advance on him. Taking deep breaths he swayed on his footpaws fighting the urge to finish him off. He could tell Nolkin was a weaker fighter. He could end it quickly if he would just let his paw draw his sword. Instead, Martin forced himself to focus on the words of the squirrel.

"I am not of a murdering house!" Martin replied angrily.

"You instructed your envoy to murder innocent creatures!" Nolkin yelled, a tear coming to his eye.

"Envoys are peacemakers," Martin retorted. "They do not murder any beast. They have no authority to…"

"You lie!"

"I may be many things, Nolkin," Martin said coldly, narrowing his eyes at the insult. "But I am _not_ a liar."

"The first envoy that was sent killed creatures!" Nolkin shouted. "Accused us of things we didn't do!"

"He had no authority to and would not have had any instruction to do so!" Martin gasped shaking now in his efforts to remain level headed. "Nolkin, call off your creatures. Let us talk about this."

"There are never any that will listen," Nolkin whispered. "We are never 'eard…"

"Call them off Nolkin and I will listen to you," Martin said as calmly as his body would allow and holding his paws wide.

"You will make us drop our guard just as the first envoy did, then you will slaughter innocent creatures to prove your strength- just as you are now!"

"If I wanted to slaughter you Nolkin, we would have done so already. Can't you see we are here for peace? You raised Nilhand in rebellion against the king- that is treason. You should be put to the sword…"

"So you are 'ere to murder!"

Martin took a large breath to try and calm himself. "I am here for justice and that means finding out what caused you to rise against your king and country. I will have that justice seen to first before I pass judgement on what is to be done with the rebellion."

"You will just kill us once our guard is down," the squirrel reiterated. "Just like before. It is just like before…"

"No, it's not," Martin affirmed. "I will listen, Nolkin. I will hear you out. I am here to carry out the king's justice, but that cannot be done unless I know all the facts of the story. Your side must be heard."

Nolkin just shook his head and took a step backwards. "Murder is not justice."

"That is why you killed the second envoy wasn't it?" Martin questioned, letting the pieces fall into place. "You took your revenge."

"He killed my daughter," Nolkin said painfully. "Ran her through as he left. She was just coming in out of the rain…"

Martin growled lowly. Why had his father not told him? Why wasn't he told all of the details? Did his father not trust his judgement enough to tell him all the information? Or was he, just as he grandsire had been before him, just a weapon; an extension of the king's arm to do his bidding without being placed in harm's way.

"What was the envoy's name, Nolkin," Martin said dangerously. "What was the beast's name and I will make sure justice is served to him."

"Ulrick," the squirrel breathed heavily. "A mouse named Ulrick."

Martin's eyes narrowed. Ulrick was the son of Baron Ulran of Eurus. How could he be an envoy- he had not been to the palace to take orders from his father? But Ulran had. He had been there when Martin and Malina had run into the corsairs for the State Feast. He was discussing a betrothal between Ulrick and Malina.

"I am not a liar, murderer or envoy, Nolkin," Martin stated plainly in a loud voice that all creatures could hear. "I am but a simple mouse, born to a royal family. Put aside these notions of rebellion and let us work towards a solution. Let me put my name to good use and right the wrongs that have been done. Together we can make Eutrusia strong again."

The squirrel looked blankly at the mouse, unsure of how to take him.

"Your Highness…" Nolkin started, using Martin's formal title for the first time, but was cut short when Klein's voice yelled over the plain.

"Captain, the river!" Klein shouted as tall gray ships slipped silently towards them. Martin barred his teeth and narrowed his red eyes. The ships from the sea. They must have continued north and entered the River Eu by the inlet.

"Corsairs!" Nolkin shouted. "They're after the jewels again!"

"Again?" Martin pressed urgently giving the squirrel a hard glance. "You've conspired with them!"

"No!" Nolkin snapped. "Like I told your first envoy- we 'aven't treated with no corsairs. They stole gems from us once already, and now they're back for more!"

"Stole?"

"Yes," the squirrel divulged quickly. "We had 'em all packed up in the Nilhander chests to take to Ashbryar Castle for safe keeping when a pair o' corsairs snatched a small trunk. We've been waiting for them to come back for more."

"Which is why you had all the major inlets of to the north guarded," Martin muttered, mentally berating himself against the obvious actions of the northerners. "And you were taking the chests to the baronial castle."

"For safe keeping until Baron Falcor came back," Nolkin said quickly.

Martin took a deep breath and shook his head at the information. He had so many questions, but now was not the time to get answers. Words were lost when action was called for.

"We need to 'ide t'jewels," Nolkin roared at his northerners.

"No!" Martin shouted, seizing control of the situation. "We need to stop them. We need to fight them. Any other way and they will only just come back."

Nolkin nodded and stepped back assuming Martin's command.

"Olan, take the archers and set up a blind in the trees," the prince directed. "Cam- take the strongest beasts you can find with some poles and wedge those rocks into the river. We need to make it too shallow for them to pass."

"What if they're flat bottoms?" Cam asked quickly picking out his comrades from amongst the guard and Nilhanders.

"They were at sea," Martin pointed out. "They'll have a reasonable keel."

The mouse nodded and ran to do his Captain's bidding.

"The rest of you, come with me," Martin grinned, feeling the blood starting to pump through his veins again. "Eutrusians, draw your weapons! _Ymlaen!_"

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"Cap'n Talt! Cap'n Talt!" Harsk called from the stem and pointed forward to the right. "There be trouble up ahead!"

The searat captain spun on his heel to view a force charging towards the riverbed.

"Hellsgates!" he swore and took a last swig of grog before throwing it at the wheelbeast. "Tat t'Royal Guard!"

"I thoughts we gonna beat 'em here," Clawfang stuttered out.

"Well it don't look like we did, do it?" Talt grumbled out. "All paws t'deck!" he shouted about the ship. "All paws t'arms 'n git ready for o' fight!"

"Cap'n ahead!" Harsk called again, this time pointing to a large tower of rocks where creatures were poling boulders into the river in great splashes.

"Curse t'Fates!" Talt hissed and slashed the railing hard with his sabre. "Stop t'ose beasts afore t'ey run us a-ground. All o' ya- go!"

The corsairs didn't need much encouragement. At the sight of the Guard running at them they sprang into action, pulling their weapons out of their holders and leaping over the railings into the shallows.

"Form the line!" Martin instructed in a loud voice, keeping one eye on the corsairs as they wadded in the shallows towards the bank. Striding boldly in front of the fighters, the prince drew his sword and whirled it aloft to inspire confidence. "Take courage, friends. Our bravery will not let us fail!"

Once the corsairs bound over the muddy apex of the river, Martin let out a loud battle cry and led the Eutrusians forward, charging recklessly towards the water and crashing into the vermin. Swinging his sword wildly, Martin fought through the onslaught; slicing, stabbing, twisting his blade out of one vermin's body before pressing it into another. Strikes rained down on his shield and weapons battered his armour, but he couldn't feel it. All he could feel was the burning in his eyes and the strength in his paws. Forward he fought, always stepping forward, never backward.

Beside him, the Eutrusians fought bravely, each pressing ahead in attempt to keep up to the prince fighting boldly before them, cutting down beasts to lie at his footpaws.

Within moments, they heard a loud _crack_ and the lead ship splintered to a halt against the rocks. Behind the vessel, the second ship pushed into it from behind, making its own crunching halt and shift to the side of it lead. Cries from the vessels were a mix of anger and screams as Olan's arrows rained down onto the deck, halting the evacuating vermin off the port bow. The few that did get away were quickly dealt with by the Eutrusians on the ground as they tried to escape into the melee of battle off the starboard side.

"Reform the line!" Martin roared, jumping upon the large rock and whirling his long sword as the corsairs started emerging in larger numbers. "Eutrusia! Reform the line!"

They pulled back, giving themselves a few moments breath and waited for Martin's next signal. Klein looked up at the young prince on the tall rock. His eyes burned red against his stern expression. His red cloak whipped in the breeze and his amour and sword were covered in red blood. He really was what they called him. He really was the Red Prince.

"Captain!" Loukin shouted below. "Let's charge them- let's end this."

"No!" Martin snarled, his hackles raised and teeth barred. "He hasn't come out yet."

"Who?" Nolkin called in confusion.

"Their Captain," Martin grinned and pointed his sword to where a large rat dropped to waters, rallying his vermin to his side in an attempt to organize them in a resistance.

Martin laughed and jumped effortless from the rock and landed lightly on his footpaws. Looking back at the Eutrusians he chuckled menacingly. "Shall we see how he negotiates?

"Hold the line until my signal!" Martin commanded and walked straight at the advancing corsairs. "Follow!"

"Ya wrecked me ship ya gitchy lil' whelp!" the rat snapped at Martin as the brave mouse strode up to him. "All me ships. Ya best be running or makin' ya peace with ta Forest…"

"Scum!" Martin yelled and leaned casually on his sword. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to?"

"A mouse wit a death wish!" the rat hissed and pointed his cutlass at the prince while holding a flail to the side in his left paw. "Now, come 'ere 'n let Captain Talt teach ya o'lesson not ta mess wit his ships!"

"Ha!" Martin laughed. "You maybe rethinking that statement when you are at Hellsgates, rat!"

With a great roar the rat swung the flail at Martin. The mouse had just enough time to duck under the protection of his shield when the spiked ball made contact with the steel. Two, three, four times the rat sent blows to the mouse's shield, sending Martin backwards. Just as Talt felt he had the advantage, Martin spun away from the contact and caught the rat across the back of the legs with his blade. Howling in pain, the vermin swung his cutlass, catching Martin's shield on its edge and ripping it from the mouse's grasp.

Snarling, Martin took up a ready stance and held his blade in both paws before him.

"Come on, rat!" he challenged. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Charge- ya filthy seadogs!" Talt yelled and limped a step over to counter his injury. "Charge 'em- leave none o'live!"

Martin sprung forward into the charge, calling his Eutrusians forward, swinging his sword from left to right to strike corsairs down around him. Leaping over a dead stoat, Martin landed in the shallows were Talt was trying to make an escape.

"A captain that leaves his crew to die," Martin snorted and glared his red eyes at the rat. "Cowardly, but what can you expect from vermin."

"I not be a coward," Talt laughed and shook his head. "But y'are a fool."

"Says the walking dead beast," Martin glowered.

"I ra'her be dead than deal wit t'ratlord," Talt sneered. "Ya not know t'war ya just started."

"Enough excuses, scum," Martin jeered. "Your threats are as empty as your attacks, as weak as your paws. My own nursemaid could have wielded a weapon better than you!"

The flail whipped diagonally towards Martin. The prince blocked it with his sword and let the chain from the ball wrap around the blade.

"Whatcha gonna do now, mouse?" the rat sneered at his opponent, dropping his cutlass to grip the handle with both paws.

"This," Martin laughed and moved his paws to the hilt of his sword. Hauling the rat back towards him, Martin then pushed forward, thrusting the long blade through the rat's chest. The corsair gave a painful shout and snarled against his hurt causing the beasts closest to them to turn towards the two. Martin curled his lip in disgust and gave his blade a twist, cutting closer to the rat's heart. Talt gasped for a brief moment on his footpaws before falling forward onto Martin and pinning the mouse beneath him in the shallows. Panic flowed through the corsairs, while Loukin and Klein jumped forward to kick the dead rat's body off the prince and pull Martin to his footpaws. Shaking the chain loose from his blade with a quick of his wrist, Martin looked about the remaining corsairs.

"Any others fancy a trip to Hellsgates?" Martin yelled dangerously. Laughing at the silence Martin took a step towards them and watched them break into a run away from battlefield.

"Let them go!" Martin ordered as he saw a handful of beasts take up the chase.

"Your Highness, they'll tell others o' the jewels," Nolkin hissed. "We must end this."

"Others already know of the jewels, Nolkin," Martin growled at him. "Let the vermin spread the word of our resistance. Let them spread the word for others to fear coming back here."

"Victory!" They could hear Olan shouting down from the trees. "Victory for Eutrusia!"

"Victory for Eutrusia!" Klein picked up. "Victory for the Red Prince!"

Martin turned his attention back to the Eutrusians cheering behind him. Taking deep breaths he felt his bloodwrath leaving him now the enemy was gone and felt pride as they all took up the victory cry.

"The Red Prince! The Red Prince of Eutrusia!"


	14. Actions are Louder than Words

**For chapter 13, you get to read a scene I had originally deleted from ****Elderstar****. Looking back on the work, I realized how important it is to setting the mood of the story. ****The Red Prince**** is quite a dark tale and I believe this chapter starts to introduce that fact that there are things at work greater than beasts and actions on one decision dictate what will happen next. So without further delay- here it is...**

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**Chapter 13- Actions are Louder than Words**

"Hold, Your Grace!" the fighter yelled as his sword was knocked from his paw by the lord's mace and sent flying across the training ground in the back courtyard of Lysium's baronial castle. The young squirrel ducked beneath another swing before pulling his shield up to protect himself against the relentless strikes. "Hold, hold! My Lord Ulrick- _hold!"_

The noble mouse pommeled the rounded steel one last time with his mace to force the creature onto his knee before taking a step back. A smudge smile curled on his lips as he sneered at the beast gasping for breath before him. Thinking the spar was done, the squirrel lowered his shield to rise when Ulrick swung his mace overhead, stepping forward and bringing the shaft down hard at the base of the soldier's neck. Gasps sounded from the onlookers and servants busying themselves about their duties. Several of the personal guards assigned to the protection of the castle took a step forward to intervene, but were halted by Ulrick's words.

"Do not interfere!" he ordered and snarled at the victim's yell. "Never drop your guard! Who are to think this is through- that we are done? I am never done until the opposition ceases to breathe!"

Raising his mace again to take aim at the squirrel's head, Ulrick was stilled by a loud shout from the sidelines. "Enough!"

The fighter fell backwards and held his arm above him as if to shield himself against the mouse still posed for a strike. _"Ulrick- yield!"_ the voice thundered again.

At the mouse turned and lowered his weapon, letting the iron head thump into the earth to create a cloud of dust in exchange for an explosion of blood. Ulrick kicked the cringing beast's shield to him. "Go and take this to your sister. She can probably wield it better than you."

"Tommin doesn't have a sister, my lord," an otter guard grumbled as he helped the squirrel to his footpaws. "'N he's just a squire…"

"Are you questioning me?"

"Caol is educating you." The voice spoke again, closer this time and Ulrick stepped to the side to see his father and stepmother standing ten paces behind him. At Ulrick's silence, Baron Ulran raised an eyebrow. "Taken to fighting fledgling squires now, son?"

"You have all the true soldiers at the borders," Ulrick argued. "Who else am I to spar with?"

"Sparring involves instruction; _beating_ involves senseless displays of power."

"Power is never senseless if it be a demonstration of might," the lord countered while the two common beasts took their leave, allowing the three nobles room for private conversation. "Grandfather Neron taught me that."

Ulran just closed his eyes and sighed deeply, gathering his strength to deal with his troublesome son.

"Ulrick, the squire cried for you to hold," Dalila retorted sharply. "It is up to you as a _lord_, a _noble_ of the realm and your father's_ heir_ to uphold the rules of engagement."

"My apologies, Baroness," Ulrick snorted and gave her a bow. "I was unaware you were so experienced with sparring."

"I am quite the champion as it were," the baroness replied before Ulran could silence his son. "All ladies of birth are; except in our spars we use words to silence our opponents, not sticks with hammers strapped to the ends."

"Apologies, my lady, but I know quite a few ladies who are silenced by a stick."

"Ulrick that is enough!" Ulran hissed as Dalila stiffened beside him. "You will apologize to your mot-"

"She is not my mother," Ulrick interrupted with cold eyes. "But I do offer my apologies, Baroness Dalila. I spoke out of turn and was disrespectful. I fear the heat of battle is still in my veins which has quickened my tongue." With that he gave a low bow, before turning on his heel to stride back towards the corridor leading to the castle.

"And he is to be the husband of my gentle niece?" Dalila observed and raised an eyebrow. "Ulran, how do you and my brother think Malina will not be crushed by him?"

"You and I will be here to make sure that doesn't happen," Ulran affirmed. "And I will talk to him."

"Then do so soon," Dalila ordered and signalled for the baron to follow his son. Waving a pawmaid forward to help her, the baroness let go of her husband's arm to take four shaky steps to the servant's outstretched paw. "Try to knock some sense into him before the evening meal would you?"

Ulran gave a frustrated snort and watched his wife cautiously as she made her way out of the courtyard and into the fallow-coloured castle. The breeze blew her sheer veil behind her from its place on her wimple, drawing the baron's attention to the headdress. The sight of the soft mauve cloth sent a pain right through him and he inwardly growled at the need for it; Dalila had started to lose her headfur and rather than watch it continue to fall out in clumps, she made the brave decision to have her pawmaids cut it off. She always did the proper thing, always held her head high with pride and never yet any beast cast a shadow on the state of Eurus they together had strove to restore to honour. Ulran would not let his son undo the ties they had mended for deception of his own father's lies and spiteful mutterings. He would bring Ulrick to right; he had to.

* * *

The baron found his son in the castle archives. Though not nearly as large or grand as Vasilis' library was, Lysium held an impressive collection of works centering mostly on the tales of the many mice to hold the baronage. As his father drew nearer, Ulrick looked up from the parchment he was studying on the angled desk and awaited what Ulran had to say.

"Ulrick, we need to talk," Ulran started sternly. "Your attitude as of late is beyond excuse." His son snorted and rolled his eyes, turning his attention once more to the page before him. "Your display of aggression in the courtyard, your tone with Dalila… Ulrick, what has gotten into you?"

"Father, do you know our forefathers were some of the sailors who came across the sea from the mainland?" Ulrick voiced as if Ulran had not spoken at all. "Our family's genealogy can be traced just as far as the royal line."

"Yes," Ulran muttered. "Ulrick, I…"

"And look- not one single mar against it," the young lord continued. "All nobles. Every generation bred from titled stock…"

"What is your point?"

"My point is how in the name of the Seasons did my aunt not become queen?"

Ulran slapped his son's goblet of wine off the table. "Ulrick, you listen and you listen well," the baron said coldly, danger dripping from his words as countless seasons of hatred for his father and sister bubbled to the surface. "What happened in the past, happened in the past; you cannot rewrite history, you cannot turn back time. Yes, your Aunt Ulyssa may have been Queen of Eutrusia, but that was not the will of the Seasons. _Queen Valina_ sits beside the king and no better consort has the kingdom ever held. Stop dwelling in the mists of forgotten memories and lies told to you at your bedside and focus on your future."

"Grandfather was shamed!" Ulrick snapped. "King Matteus picked a _commoner_ over his highborn daughter!"

"The prophets foretold the need for it! Any fool of a beast knows that."

"And Aunt Ulyssa was forced to marry a simple syr while a snippet took her place on the throne."

"Your aunt had to marry a simple syr because my father was a fool to rebel against the king!" Ulran shouted and slammed his fist onto the top of the table. "It's hard to acquire a suitable match for a traitor's daughter once the rumours get out about her loose legs."

"Grandfather was not a traitor-"

"Give your ears a shake, lad," Ulran scoffed and skewed his face against the folly. "He paid those country knights in solid gold bars and precious gems. They were old, tired, their days done- what more could they give their families then bountiful wealth by their death?"

"Still, our family line deserves better," Ulrick asserted and mumbled under his breath, "it will have better."

"Son, our line has better," the baron replied. "We are the ruling house of the greatest state in Eutrusia. Our wealth and power are only outmatched by the royal family itself. A royal family we are part of. I am married to the king's sister-"

"Barren sister."

"The king's sister," Ulran restated and tapped the lineage lines on the parchment still unrolled before his son. "A princess in her own right; and you are also going to marry a princess. Princess Malina will be your wife in two seasons and you will have a direct tie to the future king, Prince Martin Etifedd." He paused a moment hoping his words would soak through his son's thick skull and cotton stuffed ears. "That, son, is as good and as close to a royal line as any creature is going to get."

"But the princess is not of royal blood," Ulrick pointed out.

"She is still considered to be part of the family."

"The maid's family the prince takes for wife will have a closer bond. They will receive more favours…"

"Good 'Gates, son!" Ulran exclaimed, exasperation evident in his voice. "What more do you want? You have _everything_ before you but a crown!"

"Exactly." That single word made Ulran's heart skip a beat and his blood chill to an unearthly temperature.

"No," the baron said. "Ulrick- stop this talk. Stop it now and don't _ever_ speak of it again."

"The king and queen are getting older," Ulran pressed, stepping around the table slowly. "The queen may be passed her carrying days even if they wanted to make another princeling."

"They don't need another princeling. They have the kingdom's Etifedd."

"That is if he comes back from the north alive."

Ulran just shook his head. He couldn't believe the words leaking out from behind his son's teeth. Words brought forth like from the tip of a snake's tongue, flicking off the fork and into the air of possibilities. Words he heard whispered and muttered in the darkness of the forests to creatures hidden by their cloaks before he had turned from his own father and marched his personal guards southwest to the capital to join forces with the Royal Guard.

"You created this problem in Nilhand didn't you? You pushed those creatures into open rebellion knowingly putting the prince's life in danger!"

"We belong on the throne," Ulrick hissed and came to stand before the baron. "It is our family's right."

"We have the right to nothing."

"You are blind to the opportunities that await us. That will await us."

"Ulrick, why-" Ulran started, shaking his head before looking into his son's eyes. "Why are you acting this way- how are you so certain of this?"

"It has all been decided, Father," Ulrick smiled with an air of confidence so sure it caused Ulran to shudder.

"What do you mean, it's decided? Decided by whom?"

"The creature Aunt Ulyssa found," Ulrick said, his words slithering amongst the air. "The black creature from the beach."

"Why have I not heard of this and who is this beast?" Ulran pressed. He did not like the tone of Ulrick's voice or the smirk that curled the very furthest corners of his lips.

The mouse gave a sly smile before raising his eyes in mock-thought as though he had to truly remember the occurrence. "It was just as you ordered me north, Father," the lord phrased. "There had been a great storm at sea and my lady aunt was walking on the shore with some guards. They came upon a rather peculiar vessel which had been wrecked in the gale.

"Oh, they thought none were alive of course," Ulrick snickered. "And just as well seeing as it was a ship of vermin."

"But we did find one still alive amongst the rubble," a haughty female voice proclaimed from behind the shelves. "He was barely alive, but I do not think such a creature can know death."

"How long have you been here, Ulyssa?" Ulran demanded as his sister slipped around the corner of the woodwork. She wore an elaborate dress of black and violet brocade trimmed with silver and strings of amethysts were weaved into her nearly white headfur. She glided towards her nephew and stood at his side, her smile every bit as poisonous as his.

"Long enough to hear where your loyalties truly lie, brother," she laughed. "But then, I knew that the day you marched against our cause."

"I should kill you," Ulran growled and put his paw on the hilt of his sword. "I should kill you for twisting my son the way you have."

"I have done nothing but tell him the truth!"

"The truth!" Ulran laughed. "The truth of an old harpy? Come now, Ulyssa. All the seasons of swallowing worm fern and juniper concoctions have addled your brain."

The lady cackled. "There is nothing you can say that will offend me brother. Father's aspirations of the crown will come to reality and though I will never sit my tail upon the throne of Eutrusia, Ulrick will. And after you are dead, my Penlar will inherit the baronage."

The baron wheeled on his son. Ulrick shrugged. "Such are the costs for marrying a barren maid for love. I hope you are happy, Father. Nay, you should be for I will be king on my own. I daresay that is a shade higher than the affiliation you proposed me to be satisfied with."

"You have no… this creature of yours must be a mad beast."

"It's a seer," Ulyssa smiled slyly. "Not mad."

"And you think it sees something the prophets will not?" Ulran snarled, his hackles rising with the tightening grip on his hilt. "The prophets…"

"… Are blind to the path of the prince," Ulrick stated. "They do not know his fate. This beast does."

There was a silence that fell upon the room. The air heavy with tension; pressing down on the three mice as they stared at each other, assessing, waiting. Ulran's thoughts spun through his mind. His own son was conspiring against the crown, his friend, his brother by marriage. He had fallen into the same spire of hatred his father and sister had followed; one that could only lead downward. This was treason. Both of them guilty of treason.

"I could snap my claws and watch you die for this," Ulran glowered, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

"Oh, a situation you have been most anxious to view," Ulyssa giggled like a maid at her first spring feast. "I trust you will declare a toast with my final breath." She paused for a moment and looked Ulrick up and down. "But could you condemn him, your own son, to the axe beast? Could you watch Ulrick kneel his head over the block and see his head slip off his neck- that same head you kissed when he was a babe and swore to protect forever? Cradle his lifeless body the same way you used to carry him around Lysium with you while you were home? Could you live never hearing his voice again? Never seeing his face, his smile, or his eyes?

"You will never have that feeling again, you know," Ulyssa continued as she watched her brother's face twitch at the declarations. "The pride a father feels for their son when he holds him for the first time or witnesses his first steps, his first words. And you will live the rest of your seasons knowing you so much as swung the edge yourself for it will be by your confession the king knows any of this at all."

"What did you two find?" Ulran gasped out. His voice was hoarse with emotion and his heart was pulling apart between honour and family. "What is this creature?"

"A creature of the Fates," Ulyssa whispered and looked over her shoulder to the shelf where she came from. There was a shuffle and the soft sounds of fabric brushing over the floorboards. "A beast who knows how to see its way through the mists."

Ulran turned his attention to the wooden structure and his eyes widened. Reacting with the seasons of his military training, the baron pushed his sister and son behind him as he drew his sword; his bravery commanding his actions, his senses dull to the ringing laughter behind him and focused only on the shadow before him.

* * *

"We found a series o' old mines in the mountains not far from 'ere outside the village o' Aramore," Nolkin explained the day following the battle in Martin's pavilion where he slouched forward in a chair five paces off where the royal mouse sat at his table. The prince was sitting straight in his seat, his paws resting on the armrests and his body pressed up against the high cushioned back of the chair. Before him on the table a piece of parchment sat along with a quill, ink, candle and bolt of red wax.

The squirrel tried not to focus on the paper that would seal his fate, but instead focused his sight on the regal beast before him, shifting his eyes every so often to the faces of prince's lieutenants as they each stood aside their sovereign. Their expressions were unreadable as they listened, much like the prince's. It was unnerving and yet gave the Nilhander hope; Prince Martin did not sign his warrant of execution yet- the mouse had said he would hear his side of the story and he was. He was true to his word and not rash.

"They not been used for some time for not e'en the elders recall there ever being mines in the north, but they are beamed and posted. They must 'ave been active at some point," Nolkin continued. "We went in 'em first cuz we thought they might be adder holes. We couldn't 'ave snakes that close to t'village, but when we got inside…" The squirrel paused for a moment before continuing. "There be gems e'ery where around us 'n the very ceiling shimmered like stars."

Martin just sat in silence and let the squirrel talk, taking in every word and tone of his voice, alert to anything that hinted a lie. In his own mind he was struggling to maintain a sombre composure. In all of his studies or lessons, never had a tutor once posed this circumstance of how to sentence a creature to death that only reacted to crimes first done to him. The prince felt nervous and ill-prepared to handle the situation, but knew it was up to him to name this creature a traitor and order his death. Inwardly, his mind battled his heart, screaming at him to sign the parchment and be done with it, that Nolkin be put to the sword, his head be hoisted on a pike for every beast in the north to see what happens to beasts that rebel against the royal family. Yet, he heart told him to wait; deep within the pit of his stomach, inkling urged the prince not to act in haste; that these random pieces may fit into a larger puzzle once the rest of the chips fell on the table.

On the squirrel described the mines in detail and Martin would nod every so often to show he had not turned to stone, but he was not fully listening. Gripping the wooden arms tighter, the prince resisted the urge to shift in his chair or utter a groan of discomfort; his muscles were sore, his injuries burned and almost every joint where his plates sat were rubbed raw from his armour. He would not show any weakness in the sight of this squirrel, or any beast for that matter.

As the narration wore on, Martin began twirling his signet ring around the index finger of his right paw, silently urging the Nilhander to hurry with his explanations and remind him his life was still hanging in the balance. Nolkin's words stumbled slightly under Martin's movement as he hurried his speech and began to repeat his phrases from his nerves.

"Yes, you have told us of the location, Nolkin," Martin spoke up, interrupting the reiteration. Leaning forward in his chair, the prince let his left paw strum its claws across the table in visible agitation, then pull them into a fist to rap the table with his knuckles once to emphasis the silence.

"Er, well, it's jus' that's what you asked, Highness," Nolkin replied, keeping a firm expression. "I answered you 'ere t'mines were."

"Yes and now we must discuss this rebellion of yours," Martin stated and placed his claw on the parchment to slide it forward an inch. "And its consequences."

The northerner gulped and for a brief moment showed fear in his eyes before banishing it behind a wall of courage. "Why should I tell you anyt'ing, if you jus' gonna kill me?" he challenged.

"I haven't once said that," Martin retorted and leaned back in his chair again. "I said we were here to discuss it."

"You 'ave t'paper all marked up."

"But I haven't signed it."

"I not be knowing that," Nolkin scoffed and tipped forward himself to look at the scribed document. "I can't read."

"I can assure you it does not bear my signature," Martin affirmed. "And without it, this warrant means nothing."

"But there's scribbles all o'er t'page," Nolkin argued. "How do I know you ain't lying?"

Martin was silent and gave the squirrel a smirk before rising from his chair to walk around the table. "I fear much to my father's annoyance, I was never neat with my ink," the prince began with a grin. "He could write a tome without a single stain on his fur, yet I could make two letters and my paws are covered in it. My tutors used to tell me I wasted ink in my haste- that I never learnt to wait that extra few moments for the excess to drip off the quill before putting the tip to paper."

Nolkin moved uncomfortably on his chair when Martin stood before him and held his palms out. "Now, do you see any ink?"

"Er, no. But that doesn't mean you didna wash 'em afterwards."

The prince rolled his right paw into a fist and held his knuckles straight ahead to display his crest ring. "Do you see any bits of red wax on that?"

"No, it be jus' gold."

"Then I haven't set my seal to it," Martin reassured the squirrel. "An execution warrant requires both a signature and a seal, as does any royal decree. Remember that for the next time any beast comes to you declaring they are on the crown's business. They will have an order, signed and sealed, as well as a banner beast amongst their retinue. If you question their motives, ask to see the order."

"But I can't read, Highness."

"You do not need to," Martin instructed. "If the parchment bears an 'M'- you know what an 'M' looks like don't you?" he questioned and waited for Nolkin to nod his reply. "Then it is an order from either the king or myself. And if it bears the seal of Eutrusia, the Scroll and Sword, then it is official and you may trust the bearer of the missive. If they are on a royal mission, they are charged by the Seasons to tell the truth and uphold the honour of the king and kingdom."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"So, back to our discussion," Martin said and stepped back to lean against the table. Crossing his paws over his chest, the prince asked, "Why are Nilhanders opposing Baron Falcor's residency in his own state? He is the appointed overlord of the northern state of Eutrusia and he should be respected."

"Beggin' pardon, Your Highness, but it's hard to respect somethin' that ain't there," Nolkin said cautiously. "We 'aven't seen Baron Falcor for, er, three seasons or so."

"Really," Martin mused, glancing towards his personal scribe standing silently off to the side taking notes of the conversation to ensure he was writing that point down. Inwardly, he was growling. The north was falling to pieces under their very noses and they knew nothing about it. "Why do you think he hasn't held his seat at Ashbryar?"

"Not sure, Highness," Nolkin replied earnestly. "But Ashbryar is leagues from here down the Eu. Maybe something happened there I don't know about. I am jus' a lumberer. I not a noble beast."

"Hmm," Martin moaned and rubbed his paw over his face. "But you said on the field you were sending the chests of jewels to Ashbryar. What did you find when you took them there?"

"Ne'er made it tha far," the squirrel sighed. "Once t'corsairs stole the chest, we hid t'rest of 'em. Didn't want t'take the chance o' losing t'rest."

"So, why didn't you tell Lord Ulrick about the jewels," Martin pressed and walked around the table to his chair again. Settling in his seat, the prince leaned forward on the table again. "He proclaimed himself the king's envoy, did he not?"

"Yes. That be about t'only thing he did do right."

"And you didn't feel the need to disclose this information to the envoy? You didn't tell him about the mines or the theft?"

"Now, Your Highness, would you be telling a random creature where your treasure was hid simply because he said he be some beast important?" Nolkin asked with a good deal of confidence. "He came up 'ere tooting he was some lordy mouse from Eurus an' King Matthias sent 'im up 'ere for us t'confess we be dealing with corsairs! Corsairs, I tells ya! Said they found a Nilhand chest full o' jewels in t'south. Said seacum be after it an' that it be our fault- that we be in workin' t'gether with them.

"I tried t'tell him it be stolen an' then he insisted on where from," he continued, his accent getting thicker as the squirrel became more worked up. "Said if we didna take 'im t'where the gems came from he be tellin' t'king we be workin' against him. Against him, I said- yous Aurelians gots your shipment o' lumber didna ya? If we were workin' against t'king, d'ya not think we be keeping the logs for ourselves t'build a fleet o' our own?

"I wasn't going t'tell that mouse nothing," Nolkin practically spat the words out. "Never trust an Easterner- that be what my pop used t'say. They be in it for gold an' that be all. So I kept me mouth shut. Didna agree or deny nothing. That Lord Ultrick, er whatever he called 'imself, threw a right fit. Got all red inna face and puffed out like a blowfish, he did. Said we were all traitors. Said we were northern bumpkin scum not knowing nothing an' we'd hang for our treason. Said we messed with the wrong mouse.

"And as he left, me dear daughter Mollie came in outta t'rain, all a-smiling an' happy," Nolkin recalled bitterly. "Guess she got in 'is way or something, cuz he just drew his blade 'n ran 'er threw like she be made o' butter."

He paused for a moment and clenched his paws in anger, taking deep breaths to control himself before continuing. "He said she be the first o' the traitors t'die. Said this be the strength o' the crown an' how this be the way t'crown deals with traitors. I tolds him t'get off Nilhand land if he wanted t'see another sunrise. I tolds him t'take his country's crown an' shove it up his arse if this be t'way they deal with things- I said this is not a kingdom worth bein' part o' if it means no beast 'as faith in one another an' lords can go about killin' as t'ey please."

"But you didn't alert any creature," Martin said plainly. "A strange lord not of your state comes to you asking about information you thought a secret, slays a female in cold blood, and names you traitors- and yet you do nothing?"

"Who 'ere we suppose t'tell?" Nolkin retorted. "Baron Falcor not be at Ashbryar an' none of us not know any in the south. Who were we to go to?"

"Syr Kempton of Sindale Keep is only two leagues away from here," Lieutenant Klein put in. "Surely, you could have gone to him."

"Syr Kempton was at the State Feast," Martin sighed and rose from his chair to pace the area. "He stayed for a longer duration visiting some old friends. In fact, he was still there when we left."

Every beast was silent for a moment to ponder the situation and formulate their own thoughts into quiet opinions.

"So, what of Syr Ettore?" Martin voiced and flicked his wrist in his impatience for the conversation to continue. "Why did you feel the need to _kill_ my father's second envoy? Certainly, you could see the king was vying for peace?"

"Didn't give him the chance," Nolkin relented. "Saw t'banners an'… well, you know t'rest else you not be up here."

"But I don't know _why_ it happened," Martin pressed. "The messenger you let get away said they had just docked the barge and were jumped upon by Nilhanders. Deacon recalled Ettore announcing he was there as an envoy, but a squirrel just sliced his head off with a scythe. The rest of the party was killed and he only survived by jumping into a boat and paddling with all his might away from the scene."

"That about how it went," the squirrel confessed and folded his paws on his lap. "I… I killed the mouse.

"I killed 'im for me daughter," Nolkin said in quick defence when Olan and Klein shifted on their footpaws behind the prince. "That lordy mouse killed me Mollie, so I killed a lordy mouse in return."

"And then rose the north in defiance of my family," Martin said coldly and narrowed his eyes.

"I rose me neighbours to arms t'protect their families should corsairs show up 'r another beast come 'ere 'n try t'tell us how t'live our lives," Nolkin countered and sprung to his paws. Two guards at the entrance took a step forward, but Martin held up a paw to halt them. "You don't e'en know what goes on 'ere… you ne'er see us, our own nobles abandon us for t'south 'alf the time. We try 'n tell you the truth, yet you don't listen- so why should we bother? We gots gems o' our own now. Why should we…"

"Because we are Eutrusians," Martin replied in a level tone and gestured to the creatures about the pavilion. "Every one of us. Be us from Nilhand, Eurus, Wesrus or Seldor; together we are a kingdom. Together we are strong."

"If we be needed t'make the kingdom strong, why you royal beasts not come up 'ere?" Nolkin questioned. "Why d'ya not come up 'ere 'cept when you want something or 'ave reason t'kill?"

"I cannot make excuses for my lord father, King Matthias, nor would I, had I the words," Martin continued and stood from his seat to stand before Nolkin again. "A king is unquestionable to anybeast and so his actions beyond query. I cannot change the happenings of the past, Nolkin, but I can help to right the future. You have my word things will change. On my honour as Etifedd of Eutrusia, Nilhand will feel its inclusion in the realm again."

The squirrel's lips pressed into a tight smile and he gave his head a curt bob. "Suppose you be wanting me head now that you 'ave your information?"

"I have a lot to think about, Nolkin," Martin stated and held eye contact. "You have killed a Syr, a noble of the kingdom, on the king's mission and raised arms against the crown. That is treason and treason is punishable by death."

The squirrel nodded weakly and slumped into his chair, letting his head fall to his paws as he rubbed his palms over his face and ears.

"I fought beside ya," Nolkin muttered. "We all did. We fought off the corsairs t'gether… I only did it for me Mollie. I jus'…"

"Guards," Martin said sharply and waved the two forward from the entrance. "Take Nolkin back to the holds and keep him there. He is not to be harmed and give him something to eat. I will send for him again once I pass my judgement."

The two grabbed the squirrel and hauled him to his footpaws by his elbows. For a brief moment, Nolkin pulled his arms away from them and looked as though he was going to fight, but subdued himself and stood bravely as they bound his paws with a rope.

"Let me see your paws," Nolkin said sternly as they tried to lead him away. "Your Highness, let me see your paws."

The guards pulled on Nilhander and got him to move a step backwards. "Please… I jus'…"

"Wait," Martin commanded and held his paw out to the trembling creature. Slowly, the prince turned his wrists to expose his clean palms and fingers.

"'N your pictured ring?" Nolkin gasped out in panicked breaths. Martin submitted to the question, keeping his eyes fixed on the squirrel. Nolkin said not another word, but pierced his lips into a thin line and relented to the pulls of the guards.

"Do you two think he is telling the truth?" Martin asked and turned toward his lieutenants once the guards had removed the northerner.

"I don't think he knows how to lie," Olan praised in a demeaning tone. "And he's quite willing to take you to these mines they found."

"Then why the rebellion if they aren't going to protect what they fought for?" Martin grumbled and leaned back on the table to overlook the death warrant. "Or did they truly fight simply because they saw no other way out?"

"Nolkin said on the battlefield they wanted their voices heard," Klein responded and the prince moved his gaze to the lieutenant. "And now you've heard them. I'd say their plan worked."

"So Syr Ettore died for a whisper," Martin sighed in frustration. "His life was wasted so a complaint could be heard?"

"Do not let it be as such then, Your Highness," Klein offered. "Ettore was a brave beast and would not want his death held in vain. It is in your paws now how it is honoured."

Martin stared at the lieutenant. He was a surprisingly knowledgeable beast for a common soldier. He knew Klein had not come from a noble household and had risen to the highest ranks of the Royal Guard by nothing but his own sweat and bravery. Where he had picked up such sound advice was beyond the prince's awareness, but he welcomed it all the same.

"Attainting Nolkin as a traitor would bring peace to Ettore's family I am sure," Martin mumbled and looked back at the parchment again and then to his quill. "It is our law- traitors are put to death."

"And Nolkin knows it, Your Highness," Olan huffed. "So, let's get his head on a pike and be done with it."

"Yes, he knows our laws and yet went against them," Martin pondered. "Not many creatures would openly condemn themselves to death."

"Mad beasts do it every day…"

"Nolkin appears the type to live by old morality," Klein put forth. "An eye for an eye."

"Exactly," Olan laughed. "He poked out Ettore's eyes so to speak and now we'll have his."

"Yes, and what point does it stop?" Martin exhaled loudly and started twirling his signet ring again. "When we are all blind?"

"I believe that would be up to the beast next in line to claim his eye," Klein said knowingly. At Martin's raised eyebrow, he continued, "the creature has the choice; either take the eye he believes is due to him, or stay his paw. It is up to him what he ultimately decides to do with it. And so, it is up to you to decide what to do with Nolkin."

"A traitor must be made an example of," Olan hissed and eyed his friend warily.

"One will," Martin said sternly after a brief silence. "Lord Ulrick will be made accountable for his crimes once we are back in Vasilis. He cannot be allowed to take the power of the king and abuse it."

Snatching the paper from the board, Martin strode to his brazier and tossed the document upon the fire. "There are enough cowards in this world without killing one with the courage to stand up for what is right no matter the consequences. Nolkin was wrong to kill Ettore, but he did it only to avenge the death of his daughter who was wrongfully killed by Ulrick." Turning back to the gaping beasts around him, the prince continued his justifications. "They raised Nilhand to protect their mines from the corsairs and their families from us. They fought only when provoked and may not have at all had their lords been in place to show them guidance. My family has wronged them by appointing weak beasts to their leadership and I will see all these wrongs corrected. I do not believe they rebelled with malicious intent, but stood on a box so we could hear their pleas."

Martin spun on his heel and marched out of the tent, slapping the canvas flap of the pavilion aside and storming down the hill to the holds were. Behind him his entourage trotted to keep up to his purposeful pace and beasts gave him slight bows as he passed them.

Seeing the prince walking his way, Nolkin pushed himself to his footpaws, his paws still bound and used to secure him to a tree. The four guards watching him moved out of their sovereign's way as he approached and kept their heads bowed in Martin's presence.

Martin said not a word, but stared into the captive's eyes, searching for the slightest hint that he made the wrong decision. He did not find any. At the prince's silence, Nolkin anticipated the worst and gave a brave nod in acceptance of his fate. Martin shook his head and held out his palms.

* * *

**So there is quite a lot of character building in this chapter and foreshadows of things to come. Check out the epic's companion piece, ****Behind the Palace Walls**** in a few days to see an additional piece to this chapter that I unfortunately had to edit out due to the segment's length. **

**Also, I would love some feedback on this chapter since it is a new one for your eyes. Reviews let me know if I am being clear and concise and also point out areas I need to focus on, so please REVIEW. Even if you have a particular question, ask away and I will do my best to answer it, or make sure I put an explanation in the story for it somewhere. Even if you review as a guest, I will put a brief reply to you in the author's notes of the next chapter. So...**

**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! **


	15. Homecoming

**Special thanks to Shadowed One 19** (always the first to review!),** Thomas the Traveller** (quickly becoming an avid reviewer),** Hamlet of Redwall** (a new face) **and Blackish **(gives in depth reviews)** for reviewing the last chapter! It is very much appreciated!**

**So to my guest reviewers...**

**Thomas: Thank you very much for your review(s) of my stories and I hope you continue to enjoy them! Yes, it is kind of my secret mission to fill in the 'holes' as it were so you will see lots of that happening! And YES. Luke will be in this story. He is a HUGE part of Martin the Elder Warrior's life and though I cannot go into detail at this point, you will see lots of him. :)**

**Hamlet: Ya, _The Fates are Cruel_ was just a one-shot I drabbled with, so no need to apologize! This epic is much different and a lot more in depth. Also, much better written, if my own opinion counts for anything!**

**Well, this one is a bit of a bridge chapter, but very important!**

* * *

**Chapter 14- Homecoming**

Brage stretched his paws to the ceiling and rolled his shoulders against their weariness as he waited for the next set of watchbeasts to relieve him of his duties. The sun was just beginning to light the sky in the east behind him and the young sea otter looked out across the oceanscape from his place in the western watchtower at the entrance to the Bay of Aureli. Carefully, Brage scanned the horizon again for any ships or signs of danger.

Half a mile behind him, the port of Aurelius lulled in the peaceful morning; the great capital of Seldor shadowed the sleepy docks against the warming light and the mighty Palace of Vasilis, the official seat of Eutrusia's royal family, stood high above the city overlooking the vast expanse of her empire. Four hundred fathoms to Brage's direct right curled the western ridge of the bay. Two hundred fathoms to his left jetted the eastern watchtower and another four hundred from it bowed the eastern ridge. In times of trouble, the four points acted as anchors for great chain that could be risen from the ocean by a serious of pulleys and weights, walling off the city from a sea attack by denying any ships entry into the bay. In living memory, the chains had not been needed and, Season's willing, they would not be needed for another age; but still they watched for danger. Still they watched the sea.

Brage surveyed the horizon one last time and then turned back to his watchmate, Gabreel, who was laying on one of the cots in the rounded room.

"Oi!" the sea otter called, never leaving his post. "Gabreel- wake-up! It's dawn, y'know!"

There was an incoherent mumbled response and the water vole rolled over and threw his arm over his head to cover his ears.

"Gabreel!"

"Yeah, keep ya rudder on, Aggy," Gabreel muttered and stretched his footpaws out towards the end of the cot. "I'm up."

"Well, go look out the back, will ya," Brage bade him and pointed to the small window across the room facing the port. "The boats should be coming over with the next shift."

Gabreel groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position to wipe his eyes. He was sore and stiff from his slumber, but he got lazily to his footpaws and waddled his way to the window. As he passed the spiral staircase which led to the horn loft, the water vole let his eyes drift up the two flights of stairs as if to check and see that the mighty horn was still there.

"Is the ol' tri-bell still there?" Brage jested as he referred to the great three-belled horn mounted out its brackets above them. "Fates didn't walk off with, did they?"

"If the Fates can lift the blasted thing, they can have it!" Gabreel grumbled back. "Bloody thing only gets blown when there's trouble."

"Or if there's a returning royal," Brage pointed out as Gabreel scrunched up his nose and waved him off. "What? The Red Prince should be returning soon- it's been a fortnight."

"Oh-la-de-da," the water vole jested and did the final few steps to the window in a feminine prance. "I should practice me curtsy!"

"Y'know, ya don't have to be such a piece o' tripe all the time. That's our Etifedd yar mocking!"

"I'm not mocking _him_," Gabreel scoffed. "I'm mocking all the fuss he's causing. I don't see the need to get all worked up over some princeling slicing other Eutrusians' throats in the north."

"Well, I'm excited," the sea otter confessed and looked back out to the ocean. "It'll be the first time I see the ships come back all bedecked with victory banners and such like. My father always said it was a sight to see!"

"Well, if _Mawredd_ shows her breast, I'll even let you blow the horn!" his watchmate laughed and turned to his own view out the small rounded window. Gabreel smiled at the sight of all the mighty ships roped to their ports or weighing at anchor about the bay. A hundred masts speared the early morning mists raising from the waters and above it all, Saelmere Keep, the seat of Eutrusia's Lord Admiral, stood tall and strong with a single light burning in the Bay Tower.

"The light's a-shining!" Gabreel called to his friend. "That means the watch be on its way!"

"Can you see them?"

"Not in all the mist in the bay," the vole replied and walked along the floor boards to open the trap door below them. "Best get ready though. I'll open the door and uncoil the rope."

"Sure th-" Brage started and then stopped abruptly when something caught his eye. A flash of gold in the distance, but as quickly as it glinted, it was gone again. The sea otter shook his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to get his vision to reproduce the image, but he couldn't.

"What's the matter, Aggy?"

"I thought I saw something," Brage said softly as Gabreel came up beside him. "Out to the northwest- I thought I saw a flash of some sort."

"Uh, maybe I should keep the watch while _you_ make ready the door," the water vole sniggered. "I think your eyes be playing tricks on you, mate!"

"Perhaps, but… eh! Did you see it? It sparkled again. A good ways off the water- did you see-"

"Aye, I saw it!" Gabreel said hastily and grabbed a spyglass from the box between them on the bench and pulled it out to full length. "There's only one type of sail to give off that sort of light." Brage watched as the veteran watchbeast stood still as a statue as he examined the sea before them. After a short time, the corners of his lips curled up and he lowered the spyglass to hand to the otter.

"Better have a look, mate," he said with a wink. "You're going to get that wish of yours!"

Brage quickly put the glass to his eye and say three ships were bobbing on the waves, riding low in the water and at full sail. Gold sails.

_"Mawredd,"_ Brage whispered excitedly as he focused on the center ship and pulled his sight up to her foremast. At her top flapped a large red flag. A victory flag.

"VICTORY!" the otter shouted and jumped off the bench, holding his paws up over his head like a tournament winner. "Gabreel- the flag of victory! I saw it! All three ships are coming back, they're…"

"They're going to need twenty dockyarders a piece to haul them into port!" Gabreel chortled and took the spyglass from the vibrating otter. "So, get your rudder up the stairs and give the ol' horn a damned blow. Don't want those east-towers to signal _Mawredd's_ arrival first, do ya?"

"No!" Brage yelled over his shoulder as he sprinted across the room and scrambled up the steps. Once he reached the top stair, the otter flung himself onto the mouthpiece of the large horn and with a deep breath, blew with all his might.

The sonorous brogue echoed through the dawn, shattering the silence and sped its way through every crevice of the city. At the end of his breath, Brage drew back and listened. Silence. Utter silence with only the whooshing roll of the waves a hundred lengths of beasts below them as a reminder the world around him was real and not just a portrait of stilled hope.

_Did I get the signal wrong?_ Brage thought as the cold line of panic ran down his back. It was one long trumpet for a returning royal and two short twills for a ship not recognized; or was it two shorts for the royals, one long for the…

The sea otter was just about to yell down to Gabreel when he heard another horn sound from the eastern watchtower. Brage smiled- the others had seen them too. Setting his lips on to the mouthpiece, he blew again, trying with all his strength to banish the smile threatening to weaken his efforts. As the horn sounded again, the otter watched the port from the framed window for the horn bells as the port came to life and torches were lit to help burn off the mists and bring the mighty vessels to their docks.

Again, the two watchtowers gusted out another wave of sound, only on the third note, another answered them. And another. The twin horns of the Bay Tower sounded out across the harbour, confirming the watchers' cries; The Red Prince was returning to Aurelius.

Laughing in his excitement, Brage left the horn and bounded down the stairs to the watch floor, only to find it deserted.

"Gabreel!" the sea otter called. "Gabreel- where are ya, mate?"

"Down 'ere!" the water vole bellowed from beneath the trapdoor. "Brage, get your rudder down 'ere- you gotta see this!"

Brage did as he was bidden and jumped down through the floor hole and onto the platform below him to thunder down the stairs towards the entrance. Gabreel was already at the open door, all but hanging out of it to better see the ships slipping across the waters as if racing the very currents themselves.

Brage stared open-mouthed at the sight of the ships, his tired eyes twinkling with exhilaration as he grasped the vole on the shoulder. The vessels bobbed closer on the waves, their golden sails billowed out taunt against the stiff sea breeze and their red banners curling and whipping with the wind. Eutrusia's flagship was in the lead; _Mawredd's_ gilding glistened in the rising light reflecting a golden hue over the diamond speckled sea. On her foremast flapped a large red flag announcing her victorious return. As they came within plain sight, the sun broke over the tops of the city, bright and red.

"Would ya look at that?" Brage exclaimed and raised his paw up to shield his eyes. "Even the sun is welcoming the Red Prince home!"

"A red sun be a warning, you know," Gabreel muttered, but didn't take his eyes off the ships now they were pushing past the watchtowers. They could hear Admiral Daelahn shouting commands to the crew and the sailors running to follow his orders. Royal Guards lined the railings, all of them cheering and waving at their homes.

"How can _that_ be a warning?" the sea otter questioned and motioned to the fo'c'sle where a tall mouse stood alone on the decking, his red cape rising around him with the breeze and a gold coronet reflecting the sunlight. "I don't think the Red Prince needs to take a warning from anything!"

"That's him!" Gabreel cried out. "That's really him- Aggy, did ya see him! That's the Red Prince- Prince Martin…"

"I thought ya didn't care 'bout all the fuss he makes?" Brage asked with a smirk at his friend's eagerness.

"Well, I… oh, shut it," the water vole grumbled. "Look Aggy- their waving t'us. Come on, give 'em a wave!"

"Huzzah!" they both called and held their paws waving paws up to the sky, pride vibrating through the air as the ships' hornbeasts started to return the Bay Tower's calls.

* * *

Valina was just starting to stir in her slumber when the horns started blowing. At first she just sighed and snuggled closer to Matthias under the thick covers, but as the second blast echoed into their chambers from the open balcony, she opened her eyes to listen to it. Instantly, she recognized the signals and whipped the covers from her body as she sprang to her footpaws.

"Matthias- he's home!" she shouted, picking up her long night gown and running to the balcony while the king grumbled and became conscious of what she was talking about. At the third bay of the horns, he was up and running to his wife.

"I can't see anything," Valina said anxiously and grasped at Matthias' paws. "The fog is too thick… oh Matthias, I can't see…"

The king was silent as he scanned the ocean beyond the watchtowers. His chest was tight with stress and the mist added to it by making the method of the ships' return a mystery.

_Seasons let it be a red flag,_ Matthias pleaded silently. _Keep the black flag in its box. _

Together the two monarchs stood on their terrace and watched the sea. They could hear the Bay Tower take up the call at the top of Saelmere Keep, but it wasn't until the sun shone over the city and cast its red light over the waters that they saw three ships; that they could see _Mawredd_ and the red flag which she brought home.

"Matthias- Martin's back!" Valina gasped and flung herself into his paws. A fortnight of anxiety and worrying exploded from her in tears and mutterings as Matthias held her tight, his own stress leaving from his body. Their son was home. Martin was home.

* * *

The horns blew across the Bay of Aureli, announcing the return of the fleet. Crews and Guards alike pressed up against the railings of the three vessels, waving arms and calling names to the docks where hordes of creatures were gathering. Orders were shouted, sails drawn up and lines cast to the dockyarders to haul the mighty ships into their ports.

Martin stood on the fo'c'sle, leaning against the foremast of the _Mawredd_ as she bobbed into place on her wakes and reared against her ropes, as if not wanting to be done with the sea.

_I know how you feel_, the prince thought as he suppressed his apprehensions of return. He had been gone over a fortnight and felt like he had aged ten seasons. Glancing up at Palace Vasilis, Martin couldn't help the smile he wore now that he was home, but his smile was quickly followed by a sigh as more responsibility pressed upon his shoulders. He was returning victorious, but informed of the injustices served in Nilhand. Injustices he swore he would reverse.

The prince turned and walked across the decking to help the crew beasts with the ramp once the ship gave into her restraints and rested quietly beside her dock. Over the short voyage they had all gotten used to Martin lending a paw- he had even help bring up the sail of the main mast during a gale when they needed extra paws to haul up the soaked canvas. Through his simple gestures, Martin had gained a great respect from all the creatures. He did not hold himself needlessly above other beasts and bore his authority lightly. He was strong in battle and was able to control his bloodwrath, something his grandsire had difficulty doing. But this Martin was stronger. Upon their return, all the creatures with him were abuzz with idea that Eutrusia's Red Prince would be their next king- and what a king he would make!

"Home, Your Highness!" Admiral Daelahn chuckled as he came up beside the prince while Martin watched the chests of jewels sent from Nolkin and the northerners being unloaded onto the docks below.

"Home," Martin breathed and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "My regards for a safe journey there and back again, Lord Admiral."

"I'm at Your Highness' pleasure," the otter replied, giving a slight bow and turning back to give more instructions to the crew. Martin chuckled and watched the families below him on the docks greet the Guards home. Fathers dropped to their knees and hugged their young ones, while wives were picked up and swung around before accepting landed kisses on their mouths. A few of the younger maids bolted towards some of the fighters, bulling them over and kissing them like they half expected never to see them again.

"What do you want us to do with the chests, Your Highness?" Loukin questioned him as Martin started to descend the ramp with his scribes and personal bodyguards following in his shadow.

"Take them to the palace, Loukin," Martin commanded, motioning to the spires high above them. "Straight into the Grand Gallery. They need to be presented to His Majesty the king before they are taking to the treasury."

"Aye," the otter replied and started organizing the carts to haul the chests with.

"Klein!" Martin shouted down the wharf as he saw the lieutenant jumping down the riggings of his ship. The mouse looked up and nodded to the prince, giving last minute instructions to a Guard and walking towards Martin.

"Yes, Your Highness?" he said with a quick bow and adjusted his haversack over his back once he stood up again.

"Great victory, my friend," Martin smiled at him and held out his paw to the lieutenant. Klein hesitated for a moment before clasping his paw warmly.

"Great victory, Your Highness," Klein smiled back proud at the recognition had shown him.

"I will see you at the victory feast tonight then?" Martin chuckled. "I am sure there will be one organized."

"If that is Your Highness' command," Klein nodded.

"It is," Martin replied firmly. "Let the other officers know as well, Klein- oh, and spread the word amongst the fighters and sailors that I will order ale and wine to the barracks for them. They deserve to celebrate as well."

"Aye!" Klein said and bowed away, hearing his name called by a little family waiting patiently for his attention. Martin watched on as Klein trotted over to mousewife and sturdy little male, pulling them all into a tight embrace. They looked like a very happy family. The prince sighed and felt the weight of the sword at his side and the coronet on his head. Now it was time he went and dealt with his.

* * *

Malina half walked, half jogged down the open corridor, looking anxiously down to the palace courtyard as the creatures begun to filter through the portcullis. As she went, the princess twisted her headfur up and pinned it roughly in place about her head while her pawmaids fussed with her gown shirts and muttered at her to slow down to a pace more respectable for a young lady.

"M'lady, please slow down so we c'n fix your gown!" an old ottermaid named Maud clucked at her as she tried to adjust the shoulders of the bodice. "His Majesty's not going to appreciate you showing your shoulders!"

"It's the style of the gown, Maud!" Malina giggled and secured the final strand of headfur in place. "Besides, Mother and Father are already at the steps- I have to be there to greet Martin!"

The ottermaid chuckled as she watched Malina blush slightly at the mention of the prince's name. It was a subtle cue, one that would have gone unnoticed had the pawmaid not known the princess so well as to know she didn't crimson easily. But Malina did look well in the morning light, wearing a long cream gown adorned with heavy gold jewellery. There was something about the way she was so simply dress, without colour or gems, which gave off the aura of timeless elegance and the contrast of her dark, curling headfur arranged up off her neck with the pale, straight lines of her gown that whispered beauty. Yes, the princess was ready to greet the prince home.

Malina was just descending the steps towards the king and queen when Martin came through the large gates to the boisterous cheers from the estate. Malina watched as he stopped and held up his paw, waving his acknowledgement of their support, and made his way to the base of the stairs.

"Your Majesties," Martin said formally and bowed to Matthias and Valina, stretching back up and focusing his blue eyes directly on Malina. "Your Highness," he added with a nod and a warm smile. "And my lords, as well. I trust the Seasons greet you all well?"

"Of course they do, my son!" Matthias boomed and descended the marble stairs to go to his prince. Desperately, the king wished to embrace him and tell him how glad he was now he was home, but Matthias knew he had to act accordingly in front of the nobles. Instead of a hug, the king put a paw on his son's strong shoulders and grinned to see Martin was now slightly taller than him. "Eutrusia welcomes her victorious Etifedd and Captain home!"

More cheers rose from the onlookers and the guards even rapped their spears against their shields to add to the ruckus.

"Are those the heads of the traitors, Your Highness?" asked Elrad, the Baron of Seldor, as he motioned to the chests being unloaded from the carts.

"No," Martin replied and eyed the baron coldly. "They are not."

Matthias raised an eyebrow at Martin's curt response and noted the hard look flashing across the prince's eyes.

"Well, then what are they?" Elrad huffed and crossed his arms impatiently. "You did kill the rebels didn't you? That was the purpose of your mission…"

"I do not believe it is you I have to answer to, Baron Elrad," Martin responded and took a step around Matthias to eye the haughty noble otter. "Nor need I be lectured by you on my duties."

"Apologies, Your Highness," Elrad relented immediately and bowed his head in submission. "I overstepped my boundaries."

"What are in the chests, Martin?" Matthias asked now that he had been directed to their attention.

"A gift for Your Majesty," the prince replied. "From the creatures of Nilhand to show their loyalty to the crown."

"Traitors don't give gifts, Martin," the king cautioned him.

"No, but loyal subjects who have been misunderstood will," Martin said and then added in a whisper. "I need to speak to you- in private, without the council."

His father's eyes went wide for a brief moment before giving the barest of nods and motioned back to the queen and Malina to come forward.

"Enough of politics for now," Matthias said in a loud voice. "Valina, come help me greet our son home- you too, Malina."

"Lady Mother," Martin said formally and bowed low.

"Oh, Martin- stop!" Valina cried and threw her arms around her son's neck, letting a light sob escape her throat when he put his paws around her. She could hear her husband scoff at her in the background at her lack of decorum, but she didn't care. She had taken at least ten seasons off her life from all her worrying and she had to feel him in her paws to assure herself he was safe. She was a mother first and a queen second whenever it came to Martin and mothers always hugged their sons after they returned from battle. Silently she sent up prayers to the Seasons that he would always come home from battle in this fashion; in one piece and only minor wounds.

"I'm alright, Mama," Martin whispered in her ear. "You can stop crying. I'm home."

Valina let out a little chuckle and released him of her tight hold. "I know you are, Martin."

Martin nodded to her and turned to Malina. His whole body tingled when he looked into her smiling face and he had to force himself to breathe.

"Welcome home, Martin," she said sweetly and dipped him a shallow curtsy. "We have all missed you."

"Ah, Malina, I've missed you," Martin said quietly to her, completely mesmerized by her soft green eyes. Taking her paw in his, Martin pressed his lips to her fingers and breathed in the familiar scent of oranges.

Malina blushed slightly at his attentions, her stomach fluttering when he turned his blue eyes up to hers and they twinkled in the morning light. She thought he looked very handsome clad in his dark blue tunic and red cloak, his gold coronet sitting proudly on his head. She smiled as she saw he had the smallest nick out of his left ear; a battle scar. Malina felt her stomach flutter when her mind thought of where else he could have scars. Instantly, her face flamed deeper.

"I think we should get out of the sun," Valina said quickly once she noticed Malina's flushed expression. "None of us will enjoy the victory feast if we have heatstroke!"

"Indeed," agreed the king and held up his arm for Valina to take as he led the gathering nobles up to the Grand Gallery. Pausing halfway up the steps, Matthias turned and motioned for the Guards to bring up the chests. "Place them in the Council Chambers," he ordered and then eyed the present Eutrusian nobility. "My lords, I will meet with you all at the tenth bell after I speak with my son."

They all nodded and bowed, each taking a step back to give the royal family a wider berth. Once inside the cool shade of the palace, Matthias let Valina's paw slip off his arm and he gestured for only Martin to follow him towards their chambers. The prince had barely taken two steps into the monarch's chambers when he was grabbed by the back of his collar and shoved roughly into his father's private study.

"Father, what…"

"What do you mean by subjects misunderstood?" Matthias said sharply and started rifling through parchment and scrolls on his desk. Urgency quickened his speech and Martin couldn't help but noticed the worried look on his father's face.

"Just what I said," Martin said plainly and took a seat in a large armchair by the fire. He had always been comfortable in his father's study, but somehow there was a heavy weight to the air; like the floor wound open into a great abyss and swallow them whole. "The Nilhanders' have been misunderstood by us- their motives were not completely malicious…"

"Next you're going to tell me you joined the enemy to battle one front," Matthias grumbled and tossed aside an armful of scrolls. At Martin's silence, the king looked up and held his breath.

"The Nilhanders joined the Guard on the field and we battled off some corsairs that had sailed down the Eu in search of the mines."

"Martin, let me see your paws," Matthias gasped out and pulled himself around his desk to stride towards his son.

"See my paws…"

"Let me see them!" Matthias shouted, grabbing Martin by the wrist and coarsely turning his paw over to reveal his palm and fingers. They were clean. "You didn't sign a warrant," Matthias breathed and let the prince take back his paw. "Your paws are clean."

"No, I did not sign an execution warrant," Martin countered. "If you let me explain…" But his father wasn't listening. Already he was back at his desk; batting papers out of the way in his frantic search and then suddenly the king stopped and took up an open scroll in his paws. Martin was utterly confused. He had never seen his father act this way, so uncertain, so panicked.

"Father…" Martin started, but Matthias held up a paw to quiet him.

"The Red Prince gives mercy where others use might," Matthias said in a low voice while he looked down at the ancient text as if scanning it for clues. "Welcome the dark; beware of the light."

* * *

**A little bit of a cliff hanger there! I wonder what Matthias has in his paws... hmmm... ;)**

**Again, thanks for the reviews everyone! I can't tell you how much it helps when writing these stories to get feedback, so please keep it up!**

**So, here I go a-typing the next chapter... and as always, REMEMBER TO REVIEW!**


	16. Prophesy Revealed

**Special thanks going out to Thomas the Traveller, Hamlet, Shadowed One 19 and Blackish for the last set of reviews! Now to answer a couple questions quickly.**

**Thomas: Good observation- the defenses for the Aurelian port come more into play in The Lilymaid but are important little tidbits for world building. As to your questions about Eutrusian geography and nobility- check out the companion piece (Behind the Palace Walls). Over the next couple of days, some new chapters there might answer your questions. Also, Eutrusia is very Mediterranean and Spanish in inspiration- open airy castles, rich fabrics, gold, warmth, music...**

**Hamlet: Thanks for the review and the compliment!**

**So, here we go on to Chapter 15: This one is a bit of an information dumper, but with the ending from the last chapter, you expected that right?**

* * *

**Chapter 15- Prophesy Revealed**

"Father, what is that?" Martin asked pointedly as Matthias continued to stare at the document in his grasp. Rising to his footpaws, the prince moved cautiously to stand in front of his father's gilded desk. "What did you just read?"

"A prophesy, Martin," the king responded and slowly sunk into his chair, never taking his eyes from the parchment. "One the prophets gave my father before I was betrothed to your mother."

The prince shifted uncomfortably on his paws. Not many seeings from those creatures were ever recorded and if written down they were to be destroyed once deciphered. How his father still had one, over a score of seasons old, was beyond him.

"May I see it?" Martin pleaded softly. Matthias exhaled loudly and held out the paper.

The world stilled for a moment as the prince hesitated; his paw posed over the scroll for the span of two eye blinks before he inhaled strongly and curled his claws around the document to bring it back to him.

He read the first few lines in silence before looking up at his father and clearing his throat to recite the prophesy aloud.

"The moon shines brightest in the black of night,  
The sun flames red when the fight is right.  
The strength of the Fates will be born in two,  
While the Seasons' line begins anew.  
Bring forth the Scroll,  
Bring forth the Sword,  
Bring forth the Warrior,  
To stand for All.  
From their union he will come to hail,  
Across the borders he will not fail.  
Mists will hide true purpose laid,  
Though heart and honour will not fade.  
Bring forth the Maiden,  
Bring forth the Prince,  
Bring forth their Son,  
Eutrusia's Red Prince."

"This is it?" Martin questioned. "This prophesy led my grandfather to wed you to my mother?"

"Yes," Matthias sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"The Scroll is you," the prince observed, narrowing his eyes at the lines and studying the poems words and rhythm. "And the Sword is Mother."

"Yes."

"It actually calls me the Red Prince," Martin whispered in disbelief. "No beast called me that until my battle with the corsairs on the beach, and even allowing that, it was the commoners and the Guards who started that name- none of them would ever have seen this…"

"You are only the third beast to ever view this prediction, Martin," Matthias confessed. "I have never even shown it to your mother."

"Where are the lines you quoted?" the prince asked. "I don't see them here."

"Keep reading," the king said plainly and at Martin's stillness, he rolled his eyes. Martin smirked at the trait his father picked up from his mother. "Unroll more of the scroll, son," he chuckled. The prince did as he was bidden, pulling down the roll to find more words inked and curled onto the paper.

"Banners high and blood red sands,  
Twin battles carve a peaceful land.  
Let him grow, let him flourish,  
Let his heart grow strong then warish.  
Bring forth the Dagger,  
Bring forth the Shield,  
Bring forth the Sword,  
To ensure their Yield.  
When he is ready, his bloodwrath strong,  
Look to the east, its cors-like throng.  
Yet don't despair at an empty bed,  
She comes to you aft four beasts dead.  
Bring forth the Princess,  
Bring forth the Heart,  
Bring forth the Memories,  
The Arrow's painful dart.  
It all begins with an endless night,  
The Elderstar signals the start of the fight.  
Sides can be switched, enemies friends,  
Misunderstood subjects, bridges to mend.  
Courage for battle, bravery for life  
Be wary of she who carries a knife.  
The Red Prince gives mercy where others use might,  
Welcome the dark; beware of the light."

The only sounds that could be heard were the crackles of the fires in their grates and the distant rolls of the ocean below the open terrace of the royal chambers. Twisting shadows waved over the study from the flapping banners atop the palace spires outside the windows; their forked ends tonguing the Eutrusian crest of Scroll and Sword engraved above the fire mantle like snakes to its prey. The two mice watched it for a moment, before the sun dipped behind a cloud and the shadows were erased from the chamber.

"What does it mean?" Martin breathed, breaking the silence between them. "Father," he started and turned his gaze from the crest to Matthias, "What does this prophesy mean?"

"I'm not completely sure, Martin," Matthias said gently and carefully took the scroll from his son's paws. "I'm not sure my father even knew, or if he ever saw the last section. I believe all he saw was what he wanted to see: A marriage, an heir and no sign of failure."

"And you have kept this all these seasons?" pressed the prince as his father flattened the parchment over the table. "Why?"

"Because the marriage between your mother and I is only half of the seeing," the king replied earnestly. "And the second half I believe carries more than just one warning, to more than just one beast."

"A warning?" Martin exclaimed in disbelief.

His father nodded. "I have tried to decode it every day since… well, since the day you were almost killed."

"Since I was almost killed?" Martin questioned and shook his head. "When was I almost killed?"

"When you were three days old your mother and I nearly lost you," Matthias said quietly. "The Fates were moments short of their prize and had your mother not insisted you had some free time from your swaddling bands, you would be dead.

"It was during a storm," he continued at his son's silence. "Lightning must have struck a banner pole and it broke away from a spire. The metal tip shattered our window glass and speared itself through your cradle. It was only moments before this that your mother was done feeding you and we had laid you out on the rug before the fire to watch you…" he stopped and closed his eyes against the memory.

"The banner poles have rounded tops," Martin argued and pointed out an example from the window of the study. "They're spheres."

"Now they are. They were not before," the king informed him before going to the sideboard and retrieving a decanter of wine from the salver. "One of my first orders as king was to change them all."

Martin waited patiently while his father poured the wine and handed him a goblet, motioning for them to take their places around his desk again.

"Something is coming, Martin," Matthias said after another forced silence. "A shadow from the east lurks; something of two, something from the Fates. Our line, the Seasons' line began anew with your birth- you hold both your families' blessings.

"I know I was hard on you," he continued. "Since your first day of training to your battle on the beach, I have not been the father I once was, but you must understand my reasoning. I knew of this threat growing and every day you showed restraint where others of your skill would have demonstrated their might, the weight of prophesy pressed heavier on my shoulders. Each time you failed to show bloodwrath my worry for our kingdom, for our family, grew."

"And so now you know I can kill, you can sleep well at night?" Martin voiced sternly. He couldn't help the contempt in his tone as seasons of his father's glares and sharp comments quivered inside him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better- grow close to you again?"

"Martin…"

"Can we talk of something else?" the prince interrupted, downing his wine and motioning to the document. "Like why the third part of the prophesy does not follow the meter of the previous two stanzas."

"Third part?" Matthias inquired. "There are only two parts, Martin."

"No, there are three. The last eight lines do not hold with the previous syntax nor carry the same rhythm. They are separate; almost entirely alone from the rest of the seeing."

"A continuation of thought," Matthias countered. "The prophets must simply record what they hear or see."

"Maybe, but why is it in a different paw," Martin remarked and tapped his claw on the parchment. "That is different writing here than that above it."

Matthias rose from his chair and leaned over his desk, scrutinizing the work before him. "You are right, Martin. Very good, my son- I never noticed that before. Perhaps I should have shown this to you earlier."

"Perhaps you should let me in on your hidden transactions," Martin said coldly. "Then I wouldn't find myself the fly caught in your web, and may by chance have time to weave my own before the Spider throws out a snare."

Matthias grimaced at the reference. "There are no longer webs in this kingdom, Martin. They were all knocked down with the death of your grandfather."

"With the exception of your own, of course."

"Martin, what are you talking about?" Matthias huffed and shook his head. "What has this got to do with the prophesy?"

"I am talking about why you did not keep me informed about all the dealings in Nilhand!" Martin rallied. "But then why would you need to? I was simply bred to wield a weapon and I can do that. Information would just interfere with me swinging my sword in the right direction, would it not?"

"Martin, you are kept informed," Matthias argued strongly. "How could I expect you to conduct judgement without knowledge? I briefed you on the happenings in Nilhand…"

"Briefed is a good word for it, yes," the prince scoffed. "You were _brief _with the details."

"Alright, Martin," Matthias said, resting against the back of his chair. "Let it out. Speak your mind and get it over with."

"You didn't tell me everything!" Martin yelled and snapped up from his seat. "You sent me to the north thinking these creatures were vicious beasts threatening the safety of Eutrusia. They were not but farmers and miners seeking justice for unjust actions inflicted upon them by their overlords and our envoys…"

"Martin our envoys did not act unjustly," Matthias corrected his son. "One of them gave his life…"

"The blood from Syr Ettore's death does not lie on a Nilhander's paws, but that of the first envoy," Martin affirmed. "Lord Ulrick of Ruarden Manor is as much responsible for his death as the beast that slit his throat."

"Ulran's son?" Matthias gaped. "Martin, you are mistaken. Ulrick wasn't in the north."

"Where was he then?" Martin pushed.

"Managing his father's affairs in Eurus while _Baron Ulran_ was in the north," the king stated. "Or so he should have been much to your aunt's vexation, I'm sure," he added with a chuckle.

"So, Ulrick was not your first envoy?"

"No, Ulran was," Matthias stressed. "When we discovered the chest of jewels from your corsair encounter, I ordered Ulran to Nilhand to find out answers as to where the gems came from and why they were trading with vermin."

"Yes, well it seems Aunt Lila's husband is as good at taking orders as his father had been," Martin mocked. "Ulran did not go north- Ulrick did."

"Ulran is nothing to Neron," his father snapped at the slight to his friend and extended family. "You know that yourself, Martin. Ulran is more loyal to our family than any other beast in the kingdom. He would never betray me. Besides, I received a missive from him with his failed findings before I sent Syr Ettore up."

"And did the message from Ulran ever mention the word _I?" _the prince pried. At his father's pondering, he added. "And when has Baron Ulran ever failed at any mission of state you sent him on?"

"We seem to be at two ends of a rope, Martin," Matthias said plainly. "Why don't you tell me what you know and I will tell you what I know. Perhaps then we can meet in the middle."

It took Martin the length of a bell to recount all his happenings in Nilhand. He told his father everything from the battles to his meetings with Nolkin and the other northerners, his tour of the mines and the brutal measures which Ulrick enlisted to demonstrate the strength of the crown.

"The Nilhanders are not rebels, Father," Martin concluded. "One confusion toppled after another and once at the heart of it, there was no true reason for it all save our failure to them as monarchs." Matthias raised his eyebrow to his son, not wholly convinced on his statement. "They asked for help and no beast heard their pleas. They called for assistance and still we did not bend an ear, then once they unsheathed their swords to defend their own, we named them traitors and marched with the purpose to kill them. It seems to me it is us who were traitorous to them."

"Martin, Martin, Martin," Matthias muttered as he rubbed his paw over his face. "You think too much with your heart sometimes and not enough with your head. I could call you a fool, but it's too late for that. You realize you rewarded a rebel, a beast fighting against our kingdom, with the gift of a longer life?"

"I rewarded a creature brave enough to stand for him home another dawning, yes," the prince rephrased. "The true rebels will be brought to heel here in Vasilis."

"Martin as much as I want to, I cannot strip Baron Falcor from his title," Matthias grumbled. "He is the only heir to the Deodar line. He must continue it." At Martin's wary glance the king relented. "Don't worry son, his title is now empty in everything, but a name."

"Nilhand needs to be governed," Martin asserted. "It cannot be without a noble representative…"

"It will," the king nodded in agreement. "Falcor will remain at Ashbryar for all intents and purposes, but he will have no power to pass judgements on anything. His son Talanis is to become a royal ward so we may shape him into something useful and when he comes of age, he will immediately succeed his father to the baronage."

"I was speaking of others," the prince pressed gently. He was not looking forward to this confrontation. "Baron Ulran and Lord Ulrick, Father."

Matthias waved him off and stood from his chair to go to the window. Martin could tell from the tight expression on his father's face he did not want to pursue this.

"Father, they must be brought to question," he stressed, standing up. "They must answer for their actions against you and Eutrusia's creatures."

"I simply have a hard time believing Ulran would do such a thing," Matthias drawled out. "After all we have fought for together and in our own personal battles… It is not like him."

"It is more Lord Ulrick we must focus on," Martin put in, trying to soften the dagger of betrayal twisting its point into his father's heart. "His brutal actions set this mess from confusion to chaos."

"Brutal actions," Matthias muttered under his breath and let his mind drift to other matters concerning the forceful lord and a certain gentle maiden.

"Father?" Martin said with a puzzled expression. "Did you say something?"

"No, Martin," he replied. "I just have a lot to think about, that's all."

Turning around, the king watched his son lean over the desk to read the prophesy again.

"Martin, you're exhausted," Matthias expressed once the prince yawned for the second time. "Go to your chambers to rest. Tonight we will celebrate your victory and tomorrow you and I will visit the prophets and see if we cannot reach the meaning of the seeing once and for all. Events are coming to light and we must know their meanings. Once we deal with that, we will meet with the council and discuss what is to be done with Nilhand."

Martin acknowledged his father with a sigh and a nod, placing his goblet gently on the salver while he walked past to exit the royal chamber.

"I think I'll go walk along the beach for a while first," Martin put in as he reached the door. "I need to feel the sand beneath my paws."

* * *

_Where did he get to?_ Malina thought to herself as she hopped off the slate step of the sea stair and began following Martin's paw prints in the sand. It was after the third bell and every beast was looking for him to start the preparations for his victory feast. The last beast to see him had been Matthias who only knew Martin expressed a wish to go to the beach, but that had been hours ago. He should have been back in his chambers by that point, but in true Martin form, he still wasn't back yet. While the heralds and footbeasts searched the palace and surrounding grounds, Malina had slipped away from her pawmaids and made for the sea to conduct her own search.

Following his markings around the southern point, Malina rounded a slight bend in the shoreline before spying Martin sleeping on the sand ten paces from her. She smiled at his still form and blushed when she realized he was clad only in his shirt; his tunic draped casually over his sword where it was thrust in the sand with his belt and coronet looped on the cross hilt.

_He must have gone swimming and fell asleep drying off_, Malina mused as she listened to his soft snores mimic the rise and break of the waves.

"Martin?" she said softly when she reached him and knelt beside him. The prince uttered a low groan and wiggled himself further into the warm sands as though it were the finest feather mattress.

"Martin," Malina tried again, only this time she stretched out a paw to stroke his ears to wake him gently. He moved faster than she could blinked.

Her paw had barely touched his fur when she felt it grabbed and twisted behind her neck before she was pushed backwards onto the sand. The next instant, Martin had her pinned beneath him, his eyes hard and misting pink with barred teeth. When she gulped Malina could feel a cold edge at her throat.

"Martin…"

"Hellsgates, Malina!" Martin cursed, he expression softening and he stabbed his dagger into the ground beside them. "What are you doing here?"

"Every beast is looking for you," Malina stuttered out. "I was just trying to wake you…"

"I'm sorry, Malina," Martin sighed and eased his hold on her, but didn't move from on top of her. "I'm fresh from battle… I'm still on edge."

Malina nodded quickly, acknowledging her mistake and slightly wiggled under his weight.

At her movement, Martin's expression hardened. Slowly, his mind worked through its sleepiness and defensiveness; registering Malina wasn't an attacker, but was in fact a beautiful mousemaid he had beneath him. His pulse quickened as he looked into her eyes and briefly remembered his departure on the docks when he had come so close to kissing her.

"No, the blame is mine," she admitted. "I should have called out to you louder."

"It probably wouldn't have made a difference," relented the prince. "I was so tired, you could have buried me in the sand and I would not have woken up."

"I'll remember that for next time," Malina giggled and brought her paw up to stroke his cheek. Martin closed his eyes at her touch; her paw was so soft on his fur and it smelled like cloves. He breathed the warm scent deeply into his lungs. Everything seemed perfect- the sea, the warm sand, the scents, Malina's touch. He never wanted that moment to end, but to grow. Inwardly, he pictured his nights in the north after their victory when many of the Guard led a pretty maid into the privacy of the trees to enjoy each other; but instead of a Guard, he pictured himself, and instead of a doxy, he pictured Malina.

"Martin, are you alright?" Malina said innocently. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," Martin breathed, dismissing his thoughts and reluctantly pushing away from her. "The breeze has picked up and I have a chill."

"You had better put on the rest of your clothes then," Malina advised and felt her cheeks flame at her words. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, the princess swivelled on her bottom to give Martin some privacy so he could dress. "Is the water warm?" she questioned in attempt to quell the awkward silence between them.

"Yes," Martin chuckled his response. "You should go sea bathing tomorrow."

"Possibly," Malina smirked and eyed him discreetly over her shoulder as he adjusted his sword belt around his waist.

Martin raised his eyes and watched as Malina quickly averted her gaze forward. He felt the fur on the back of his neck prickle and his pulse quicken at the idea that Malina was watching him.

Did she have the same feelings for him as he had for her? Martin wondered. Were they both fighting against their hearts?

_Stop it,_ Martin admonished himself and let his sword slide into its sheath to complete his ensemble. _Stop thinking about it. Just st…_

"Martin, are you dressed yet?" she asked. "Can I turn around?"

"Er, yes- sorry," Martin muttered and felt his breath catch in his throat when Malina turned around and the dimming light reflected in her eyes. She giggled at his expression, bringing the prince out of his thoughts and back to reality once more.

"Shall we go, my lady?" Martin said with a bow and he held out his arm for her. "Apparently I have a feast I must be present for."

"Of course, my lord," Malina replied with a mocking air. Sweeping Martin a grand curtsy, she placed her paw lightly on his arm and they both proceeded back to the palace.

"Just wait until the king hears you have made me late, again," Martin teased. "Not to mention yourself, Your Highness."

"We won't be late if we run," Malina laughed and grinned broadly when she saw a mischievous look flash across Martin's eyes.

"Do you still think you can out run me?" he whispered in her ear, his lips a hairsbreadth away from her fur. He smiled as Malina shivered at his gesture.

"I can beat you to the stair if that's what you mean!" Malina chortled and twisted away from him to gather her gown skirts in paw and stand at the ready.

Martin snickered and drew a line in the sand before them with his footpaw before lining up beside her. Resting his left paw on his sword hilt to stop it from swaying in his run, he started counting, "On three. One…"

"Three!" Malina shouted and took off down the sands, leaving a dumbfounded Martin shaking his head before he righted himself and spirited away after her.

* * *

Matthias came up behind Valina while she watched from their balcony as two young mice ran along on the beach laughing at each other. He clasped his paws on her shoulders to give them an affectionate squeeze before placing a soft kiss on her cheek. Valina leaned back into his chest and nuzzled his shoulder; the pair of them spending a moment in quiet embrace, completely content in their time together. Once Matthias followed her gaze to the other pair of mice running the shoreline, he sighed and straightened up slightly.

"Don't even think about it, Valina," Matthias said sternly. At Valina's surprised expression, he added, "I know that look of yours. The answer is no."

"It's time Martin took a wife," his queen retorted. "As you pointed out earlier, we were married at his age and well, he came along shortly."

"Itching to be a grandmother, are you?" Matthias jested and smiled at her lovingly. "You're still too young to gain that title yet, Vali."

"Flattery won't get you that far, Matthias," she sniggered and rolled her eyes at him. "I am talking of facts. He is eighteen seasons old after all- the nobles are starting to talk as to why he isn't at least betrothed."

"Let them talk," Matthias snorted. "Gives them something else to gossip about besides unimportant things like trade, poverty or the popular colours of the season," he said mockingly.

"I'm being serious, Matthias."

"As am I."

"Martin is a male-"

"Thank the Seasons- the Etifedd's a male!"

"Oh!" Valina exclaimed and tapped her husband on the nose. "Will you let me finish?"

Matthias laughed heartily and grinned at her. "Of course."

"What I'm trying to say is Martin is old enough to… that is he may start to want… he shouldn't…"

"It's alright, Valina," Matthias whispered. "I've already talked to him about that long ago."

"About waiting until he's married?" Valina questioned quickly.

"About how to be careful should the occasion arise," Matthias answered. "I'm afraid the rules apply a bit differently between males and maids."

Valina snorted her refute. "The rule should be the same across the board."

"Yes, well I fear every male wants to be a maid's first, but _no female_ wants to be a male's- I assure you that," Matthias snickered lightly before dropping his playful expression at Valina's glare. "Martin is particular about his maids Valina- to my knowledge he hasn't gotten _that_ far… _yet_." She deepened her scowl. "Alright, alright, I'll talk to him again," he relented and raised his paws in defense. "But you might as well come to terms your little babe _is_ eighteen seasons- as you put it- and it won't be long before he becomes a full mouse."

"Then you had better find him a wife," Valina snipped and turned around to view Martin and Malina still trotting about the sands below them in a sort of game now.

"Valina, were it that easy, Martin would be wed by now," Matthias sighed. "But his situation is… complicated. Besides, a choice for him will not be simple for the maid is not just marrying an Etifedd, but a captain, a warrior…"

"I know one that just may be able to deal with him," Valina offered softly and grinned at Martin's loud bolt of laughter.

"Malina's already betrothed," the king said firmly. "And it is a good match for all parties concerned."

"You are still going to go through with it despite what Martin has told you?" Valina gaped at him. "You know the brutality Ulrick is capable of and yet you still consider it… _a good match?"_

"It is a good match," Matthias explained, but evaded the primary question. "Ulrick would never dare try anything like that on her, and if he is that headstrong, a direct marriage alliance with Malina will ensure his loyalty to Martin.

"He's a brute."

"You've never met him."

"You've never let me," Valina reminded her husband. "And Ulran has never brought him to court- _ever. _Your sister rarely speaks of him in her letters and when she does her words are… calculated."

"Dalila and Ulrick do not see eye to eye," Matthias smirked. "But neither did the two of you at the beginning and I wouldn't say you were a bad beast because of it."

Valina held her tongue and pierced her lips. "I still don't like it," she grumbled out finally.

"I know. Ulrick is… difficult, but Malina is independent and strong beneath her soft exterior. She will have no problems finding her footpaws in Eurus and both Dalila and Ulran are right there should she run into any problems with him."

"But you are reconsidering," Valina smiled triumphantly when she heard the hesitation in his voice.

Matthias' response was plain. "I am still weighing my options."

"Two birds with one stone, Matthias," Valina quoted. "Martin is more than strong enough to deal with anything Ulrick could possible throw at him."

"They can't, Valina," Matthias said strongly. "They have grown up together…"

"But never as a brother and sister," Valina affirmed. "We have always been very careful to differentiate between the two of them."

"She's not royalty, Valina," he said curtly.

"She has been brought up as a princess," Valina countered him. "She is more qualified than any to be his match."

"She does not have the right blood. He must choose a noble maid for his bride."

"I was not noble," Valina urged along her point. "You still married me."

"And look at the mess that caused!" Matthias gasped out. "Uprisings, slaughter, blood in the fields. That is no way for a young couple to come to power."

"No, but it would not be the same for them," Valina predicted. "I feel theirs would be a great celebration. After all, the Red Prince marrying the Princess of the Sea sounds like it's from one of those old mousetales you used to read to me."

"Princess of the Sea?" Matthias sniffed. "Who is that?"

"Malina," the queen informed him. "That is what the Aurelians call her anyways."

"Because she came from the sea," the king nodded and watched his wife's amused expression. A loud squeak sounded and both monarchs looked down to see Martin catch Malina around the waist and spin her around in the shallows. Valina let out a chuckle as her son tripped on Malina's long gown and they both fell into the water while Matthias laughter boomed at the sight of them.

"They are both young, Valina," Matthias said with a smile. "It is a passing attraction and nothing more."

* * *

**So the prophesy comes to light and more than one thing is revealed here. **

**Let me guess- clear as mud right?**

**IF YOU READ IT, PLEASE REVIEW IT! **


	17. Celebration

**So, I've been tardy when it comes to updating. Sorry. LONG story I won't get into, but let's just say, I'm back! IKR, you're all leaping for joy! Right?... right?**

**So thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: Blackish, Shadowed One 19, Hamlet and Thomas the Traveler. Hearing feedback is always great and appreciated!**

**Hamlet: Yes, there is a bit of romance coming on... I'll let you know when to shield your eyes.**

**Warning:**** Some suggestive/adult themes in this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 16- Celebration**

The Feasting Hall of Palace Vasilis was a cavalcade of music, revelry and light. Torches blazed in their sconces along the length of the walls and five iron candelabrums holding one hundred waxes a piece hung straight down the center of the hall. Each table sat twenty beasts, red linens draped over the boards and arrangements of flora streamed down the middle from head to foot. Nobles laughed and broke their bread over hammered pewter plates and goblets while wooden ale tankards overflowed with drink. A musicians' balcony peaked over the crowds playing light airs as the serving beasts carried large platters up the stairs from the royal kitchens, the salvers hoisted above their heads boasting delicacies from all four states. Roasted whitefish with citrus and thyme, baked snapper glazed with sugarcane and mustard seeds, stuffed crabs, peppered shrimp, mussels, clams, oysters; fledgling game birds basted with cranberries and bowls upon bowls of salads shipped up from the depths. Plates were filled, cleared, replaced and filled again before a beast even knew it was the next course. Cauldrons of stews and chowders suspended on chains between two poles by sturdy otters and hedgehogs were brought in to perfume the air with spices and smells that made even the fullest of stomachs growl with the need for more. More than one belt had been eased off by the time the dessert courses appeared in vast displays of pastries, fresh fruit, creams and caramels.

A great cheer went up from the assemblage as Matthias rose from his gilded throne at the dais table gesturing to the kitchen stairwell where a plump hare swaggered up the steps and bowed to his majesty.

"My Lords and Ladies, the Champion of our Stomachs, Master Chef Bartholomew Fleetenpaw!" the king enunciated over the applause and three cheers went up for 'Ol' Barty!' as the hare made another sweeping bow so low, his whiskers brushed the floor, before snapping to attention and returning to the haven of his ovens and roasters.

The noisy chatter resumed and Matthias sat back in his chair to lean towards his son.

"Not bad on a bad feast on a short notice," he said with a twinkle to his eye.

"I'd say not!" Martin laughed. "But then, when has Barty ever let you down?"

"Not since my wedding day when the cake fell!" Matthias reminisced. "But since then I don't think he's attempted to sack _ten_ layers on top of one another!"

Martin gave his father a puzzled look. "You've never told me that tale before."

"Cakes and desserts are not exactly a common topic between you and me." Matthias took a gulp of his wine and tipped his head to Valina. "Ask your mother- she'll tell you all about it."

Martin simply chuckled and glanced over at his mother; regally dressed in a deep green damask and bedecked with strings of emeralds around her neck and wrist while the Eutrusian Consort's Crown sat neatly between her ears and nestled into her carefully styled headfur. The crown was striking. Comprised of countless diamonds, it was a solid wall of glittering ice with not a sliver of space between them symbolizing the solidarity of the queen to her king and husband. While the king was strong for his subjects, the queen was solid- backing him in every decision and expedition. Together, strong and solid, they were unwavering for their kingdom and one day when his father's heavy rose gold and diamond crown sat upon Martin's head, he too would have a queen that was dedicated to him.

"Valina, why don't you signal the musicians to play a few dances," Matthias said and held her paw under the table. "It seems my surprise is not here yet."

"Oh- and what would that be?" she asked. "What kind of surprise have you commissioned?"

"You'll see," the king smirked. "But I will tell you it was challenging given the late hour!"

The queen tittered and flicked her wrist towards the balcony to strike up the music into a volte. Noblebeasts rose from their tables and took partners, striding into the center of the hall and entering into the steps of the dance.

"Don't be a wallflower, Martin," Matthias jested with his son and nodded towards a gathering group of mousemaids. "I believe you owe Lady Giada a dance from the last feast you said you weren't dancing at and then cut in with Malina."

"I suppose I have to make it up to her," the prince replied and grinned at the pretty maiden casting shy eyes up at him.

"I suppose you do," the king smiled and rose from his chair again. "Shall we, my lady?" he questioned his queen and held his paw down to her.

"You are wanting to dance the first number?" Valina said, eyeing her husband suspiciously. "I think your wine goblet could have done with a few less refills, Matthias."

"Is it a crime to celebrate my son or enjoy my beautiful wife," he scoffed. "For if it is, I'll abolish the ruling."

"Hmm," she murmured and took his paw. Gracefully, she twisted him around so she was standing beside Martin's chair and whispered something in Matthias' ear to distract him while she discreetly moved his goblet away from his place setting. Martin chuckled to himself at his mother's tactful regulation of his father's intake and watched them descend to the polished stone floor.

"What's he covering up?" Malina said from her seat beside Valina's throne in a voice only loud enough for Martin to hear. Leaning on the arm of her chair, she looked Martin in the eye, "He only ever drinks like that when his mind is full."

"He's not drunk, Malina," Martin stated, knowing his father had just cause to dull his senses for the evening before the severity of the next few days ascended upon him. "He's just… pleasantly listless."

"Pleasantly listless," she derided and rolled her soft green eyes at him. "You can't lie to me, Martin. I know him just as well as you and I bet right now Mother is trying to squeeze information out of him," the princess added with a discreet point of her paw towards the monarchs.

"Oh, really!" Martin laughed and took a sip of his own wine. "How do you know that?"

"Because it's the same way I would get information out of you," she giggled. "It's private enough to talk lowly during a dance and public enough that you can't avoid the question."

Martin let his head rear back in a bolt of laughter. "What's so funny?" she demanded. "I wasn't jesting!"

"That's what makes it comical," Martin confessed. "You were serious, but I'm sorry to tell you, you would not be unsuccessful."

"Is that so?" she challenged and stood from her chair. "Well, I guess we'll never know, now shall we?"

Martin leaned back in his chair to view her flattening the satin fold of her lavender gown and fussing with her headfur where it was pinned to the left side of her head to cascade down the front of her shoulder to her hip.

"Has Father seen the back of that gown?" Martin teased her and pointed a claw at the low 'v' stretching to the small of her back.

"No," she replied.

"He's not going to approve."

"The front is cut high enough," she said, defending her new gown and running a paw over the straight neckline over her collarbone and down the length of her drooping sleeves. "Besides, no beast is going to look at my back when I am wearing Aunt Dalila's diadem!" she put in and turned her head for the light to catch the amethysts and pearls settled at her brow.

"Well, if it was enough to catch Baron Ulran's attention…" Martin started, but let his voice fade off at the mention of Eurus' baron. Grumbling under his breath, Martin fidgeted with his golden vambraces and twisting them on his wrists for better comfort.

"Martin?"

"Don't worry about it, Malina," he said shortly and got to his footpaws, walking around to the front of the dais and leaning on the table to better view the dancers.

"You're resting on that as if it were a ship's railing," Malina chided and moved beside him.

"It's what I've been used to for that past four days," Martin said and adjusted his gold and ruby collar spread over his shoulders and pushed his red cape back behind him to better show the threadwork of his green tunic. "Besides- if no beast is going to see the back of your gown for your diadem, than no beast is going to notice me for their full stomachs!"

"Martin, _every_ beast notices you," Malina corrected him and together they watched the dancers. At the end of the song, creatures around the hall clapped for their efforts and the king yelled up for a walzma to be played.

Without delay, the drummers started their steady beats of their mallets on the tubs' stretched canvas, setting a steady tempo for the song while other instruments joined in time to the beats. Lutes, dulcians, schalmei, sacbuts, rebecs, viols, and muted cornetts sounded from the musicians' balcony, playing loud and strong to the tune of Eutrusia's customary dance. The nobles all formed a long line in the center of the hall; ladies on the right and lords on the left before the dais.

"Mother is such a good dancer," Malina said wistfully as she watched the king and queen move through the steps of the dance. "Don't you think, Martin?"

"Yes," Martin agreed with a smile. "But she's not as good as you."

Malina blushed at the compliment and gave a slight start when Martin's paw brushed against the bodice of her gown before laying it over hers where they were clasped just below her chest. Her eyes flew to his and he grinned down at her.

"Shall we?" he smirked and pulled one of her paws free from its position. "It looks like there is room for one more pairing."

"Martin, we can't!" Malina chided him and resisted his initial pull on her arm. "It's a dance for married couples. It's tradition…"

"Oh, hang tradition," the prince scoffed and rolled his eyes to make her smile. "It's my feast and if I want to dance a walzma, by the 'Gates, I'm going to bloody well dance a walzma!"

"Language, Your Highness!" she laughed and picked up the skirts of her long gown in her left paw to follow him to the other dancers. "Though I must confess my gown may not cooperate with the movements of this dance- the train is long and I may trip and fall!"

"Then I will have to catch you," Martin affirmed as the two royals took up their places in the line and waited with large smiles while the music revolved for another cycle. The prince was vaguely aware of the whispers coming from the sides of the hall from the onlookers and several of the dancers gave them surprised glances out of the corners of their eyes; one syr even miss-stepped and nearly bumped into Valina causing Matthias to twist his head slightly at the source of disturbance. Seeing his son and adoptive daughter standing in their rows, he gaped slightly before turning back to his wife with a tight lipped expression. The king gave the barest of flicks to the left with his head and widened his eyes in a _do something about your son_ sort of manner. Valina gazed down the aisle of beasts and bit her lip to hide her smile. There was nothing she could do without causing more of a fuss than the whispers fluttering around them were already.

The music drawled slightly before the exchange and she curtsied deep to her lord and husband. "What will be, will be, Matthias," she whispered to him as she placed her right paw in his so he may rise her up. "It's a traditional dance."

"For lovers," the king breathed, bowing over her paw and kissing the single emerald ring on her finger. "The motions are… evocative."

"Evocative!" Valina said with the smallest peal of laughter. "The dancers barely touch, my lord."

Matthias leered at his queen as she stepped back from him to begin the dance anew. "Exactly," he said plainly. "And every time you do, it drives you mad to touch again."

Valina just smiled coyly and brought her paws up before her, their palms open to his as both monarchs moved forward with the cue of the music. For a brief moment they stood with their paws parallel, but not touching and their bodies warm from the exercise.

"Valina," Matthias mumbled and fought the urge to snatch her to his body and kiss her as he had to this very dance on their wedding night.

"Shh, Matthias," she hushed him and glanced down the row to where Martin and Malina stood in a similar pose. The rebecs and viols took up their times with the drums again and the ladies of the dance slipped shallow curtsies to their partners, their faces all turned to the right as they cast down their heads and eyes in their dip. When they arose, the males inclined their heads towards them with a tilted to the left before each stretched up to the full height for the steps to begin.

With the beat of the drums, the dancers moved. Forward, back, forward back- four times the drew close then receded, and on the fifth strike the partners twisted away from one another towards the dais, their arms and backs of their paws lightly brushing each other, stepping back and then repeating the motion in the other direction. Coming to center once more, they moved forward and back two more times, yet on the third count, touched palms to palms, intertwining fingers and stepping beside one another with their arms arched above them. The dancers paused for a beat at the center, creating a momentary line of colour and sparkling gems in the torchlight before continuing the change of sides. They moved back with the beat for a single count, then with their paws still clasped, made the exchange again on opposite sides to complete the circle before returning to their starting positions once more.

Reluctantly, Martin released Malina's paws and resumed the beginning steps of the walzma again. Twice more they repeated the motions of the dance, each time he found it harder to let go of her; after the third recurrence, the dancers turned to face the dais, the males holding their ladies' paws aloft as they moved forward and back to the drums like the waves of the sea. On the sixth step, Martin and Malina pulled away slightly, bowing to the sides and arching their free paws to the crowds for a count, then bringing them up to meet their already joined paws.

One step forward; one step backwards they led the other nobles at the head of the column for four more beats, before twisting in to face each other and continuing the swaying motion with nothing between them now their paws were raised. The prince closed his eyes and fought the images in his mind as he moved with the suggestive steps of the dance. On the eighth beat, the cornetts sounded and the pairings stepped away from each other to create a tunnel. One by one the couples proceeded through the archway of arms and as each one passed beneath them, the males stepped back in a bow while the females twirled backwards into a quick curtsy, bobbing back up and holding their partners paws again. When it was Martin and Malina's turn to enter the channel, they crossed their arms over one another and clasped each other's paws in front, sashaying through the line and emerging to the rumbling drummed ending. A single viol recounted the last few cords of the song to the drumbeats as the pairings bowed and curtsied to one another in finale.

"I can't believe I didn't trip!" Malina gasped as she took Martin's offered paw to lead her back to the dais. "I almost didn't remember what to do with the turns!"

"You're not supposed to remember yet," Matthias' stern voice whispered behind them and caused them both to turn around. Malina felt her face crimson at his reprimanding tone and she unconsciously moved closer to Martin. The motion was not lost to the king's eyes and he cleared his throat to correct their actions. "Malina, your mother wants a word with you."

"Yes, Father," she said dutifully and dipped him a quick curtsy, picking up her skirts in a fluid motion and gliding back towards the queen. Martin was silent as she left, watching the flow of her long gown and the sway of the pearl and amethyst strand centering the deep 'v' to the back of her dress.

"Martin?" Matthias chimed, breaking his son's stares. "Martin, how much wine have you drunk this evening?"

"Not much, why?" he replied with a puzzled expression on his face.

"I was just wondering what would have led you to dance a walzma."

"It's Eutrusian dance, Father."

"With Malina?"

Martin stuttered for a moment before settling on his words. "Father, it was just a dance."

"Hmm," the king mused and went to walk away. "Martin, what did you call me just now?" Matthias questioned over his shoulder as he drew parallel with his son.

"Uh, Father?" Martin responded with one brow raised.

"And Malina?" pressed the monarch. "What was her salutation to me when she departed our little discussion?"

"Father."

"Exactly," the king said firmly and gave him a stern gaze. "You two may not be blood Martin, but you were raised together. Whatever these feelings are you harbour for her, you must dismiss them and quickly. Your actions are becoming blatant and if I can see them, so can others. Check your heart and think with your head."

Martin let out a frustrated sigh. "I am fighting them, Father."

"Not strong enough," Matthias grumbled and nodded towards a gathering of nobles that called his name. "I'm serious, Martin. Malina is already be…"

"Behold the Veils of Vilcanor!" a boisterous voice sounded over the hubbub of the Feasting Hall. The prince turned at the unfamiliar sound to see hedgehog in a white and green frock standing in the center of the room. Holding his paws above his head in a grand gesture to the rafters he started moving to a foreign tone like a snake weaving his head back and forth assessing its prey. All at once the strange music halted and he stopped with it, holding perfectly still until suddenly he leaped in the air, flipping with a loud _hey!_ and tumbling to the furious strumming of an oud to rise effortless to his footpaws in front of the king and prince.

"Your Excellencies," he proclaimed with a bow of practiced flare. "With your permission we would like to begin tonight's entertainment."

Matthias gave a regal nod and gestured the beast back onto the floor.

"Father, what are the _Veils of Vilcanor?"_ Martin questioned as the other nobles looked around anxiously at one another and hurriedly took their seats.

"A travelling troupe of magicians and performers who happened upon Aurelius while you were gone," Matthias chortled and held out a paw for Valina to grasp as she approached. "They are apparently quite good."

Martin gave a little shrug and went to follow his parents back to the dais when he caught sight of Malina standing with a group of other noble ladies, laughing and swaying to the exotic music in a jest; but to the prince there was nothing jesting about the way her hips moved in perfect time to the mijwiz and riqq.

Setting his jaw against his rising desire, Martin growled inwardly at his thoughts and turned from his family's seats. He made his way through the revelry, finding himself at a table occupied by his lieutenants and officers of the Guard whom he had invited to the celebration.

"What's all the fuss about, Your Highness?" Loukin asked once their initial greetings were done and Martin commandeered a place between otter and Lieutenant Olan.

"A travelling troupe apparently," Martin informed them. "They're just going to give us a bit of a show."

"Where are they from, sire?" Klein said as he held a watchful eye on the curtain moving at the back of the room. "Have they been searched?"

"You know as much as I do!" Martin laughed. "The king has organized it, so I am sure they have been patted down."

"And who supervised it if we're all here?" Klein mumbled under his breath and nodded to the others at their table. Loukin squared his shoulders slightly and Syr Donovan excused himself to move closer to the royals' dais.

"Stop worrying, Klein!" Olan guffawed and clapped Martin on the back. "They would have been searched at the gates." Leaning to the side he waved over a serving beast carrying a tray of ale cups. Taking tankards from the server, Olan distributed them amongst the others of their table and clanked mugs with Martin. "To your health, Highness!"

Martin laughed and took a drink of the cool ale. The crisp tang tingled his tongue and it left an almost chalky taste in his mouth which begged to be rinsed down with more. Taking another dreg from his cup, he gulped down the liquid greedily. The drink was both refreshing and drying at the same time and before the prince knew it, he had consumed another two mugs.

"Another drink for the prince!" Loukin called merrily to the drink pourer behind them. "We can't have t' Red Prince be a mug shy!"

Martin snorted and slapped the otter on the back with his free paw. "Nor my shieldbeast!" Martin called. "Where's the ale? Better yet- bring us a keg!"

"Now, we're talking!" Olan shouted and spun round in his seat to give the table a hearty rap. "Kegra can sit her wood bottom right here in front of me."

"You've named the keg?" Martin jested.

"'Course, sire," the squirrel snorted as if the idea of _not _naming the barrel was absurd. "If you're going to be in a long term relationship, you've got to know her name!"

The Guards bantered for a few moments until an eerie sound of a horn bayed out in a single note, signalling the beginning of the evening's entertainment. Out from behind the curtain a quartet of lithe squirrelmaids twisted and twirled to the sounds of the resumed music, their slim outfits of purple and pink silk and their veils so only their eyes were visible on their faces and heavy silver tail-rings bedecked with glittering amethysts and tourmaline. Olan's jaw dropped and he leaned forward in his chair.

"Olan!" Klein chuckled and caught his friend by the back of the collar as he went to stand. "Sit down…"

"I don't think we need to worry about assassins, Your Highness," the squirrel lieutenant breathed loudly. "There's no way they could fit a knife under those clothes!"

The others around them laughed and even a few younger nobles within hearing range nodded and tipped their mugs to the gaping beast in agreement.

"Sometimes an empty sheath is more dangerous than the blade," Klein said knowingly and Olan rapped his claws on the tabletop.

"Right!" he smirked. "Because an empty one needs to be filled!" and gave the prince a nudge with his elbow. "Am I right, Your Highness?"

"Whatever ya say, Olan!" Martin scoffed out with a slight slur and accepted another frothy mug from Loukin. "Huzzah!" he shouted when tumblers bounded from behind the curtain as well, flipping and rolling in time to the music. Gasps went up from the crowds as they performed their acts in an array of colours and glistening gems and silver. Glancing up at the dais, Martin saw his mother whispering to his father with a slight scowl on her face. Matthias laughed and grabbed her paw to kiss it before she could pull it away in attempt to ease her disapproval.

The company leader saw the motion and clap of his paws, a muscular otter leap into a pawstand and walked without flaw across the hall to the base of the steps. Dropping into a roll, the beast curled under the immediately crossed spears from the guards, rising into a kneeling position with two separate bouquets of lilies in either paw. Bowing his head, he stretched them out to both the queen and princess, letting them take the flowers gently before rolling backwards under the spear shafts again and onto his paws to resume his routine. Martin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Valina's features soften slightly at the gesture as she settled the offering in the crook of her arm.

The performance carried out through the remainder of the evening peeking every beast's interest at one time or another. There were dancers and acrobats, musicians and singers, magicians and actors carrying out short dramatic pieces. During breaks, cheers were sent up to the king for funding the entertainment, praising him for his choice of troupe. The hour was late, drink running dry and speeches were slurred together with mumbled words known only to the speaker when the drummers beating a steady rhythm with the mijwiz and riqq, twisting a seductive tune to the rafters and shadows of subconscious thoughts.

An ottermaid glided into the center of the hall, skimming the air with an upturned paw to the right before jerking her left footpaw up to force a body spin, bracing it wide and making a similar gesture left and repeating the twirl. Stomping both footpaws wide, she made a perfect clockwise gyrating with her upper body, stopping at the apex and circling her right arm out to reveal a hidden cloak and then her left to display the other half.

"By the Seasons- why did I marry?" Loukin groaned beside Martin and the prince and Olan laughed heartily at the fighter's torment.

"An' yous were gettin' all shorts 'n like wit me when I's says t' same thing!" Olan garbled and took another gulp of his drink. "We's gots married too young, Lou-kin."

"You got married because you couldn't keep you belt cinched," Klein hissed at him and snatched the cup away from the lieutenant. "Not like it changed you much-"

"'N why should it?" Olan snipped and made a feeble attempt to grab the mug back. "Oi! Klein, gives me drink back," he demanded and blinked furiously at the mouse. "All of yous."

"All of me?" Klein chortled. "Right. Looks like I'll be carrying you home tonight."

"Nonsense and fl-luff-fa!" the squirrel replied. "I c'n walk me-self…"

"We'll see about that," the mouse sniggered and grabbed a bowl of half eaten breads from a passing servant carrying a large tray of dirty dishes and left over meals.

"Beggin' yar pardon, Lieutenant," the young lad said. "Those vittles been picked at."

"It's alright," Klein chuckled and tossed the bowl down on the table in front of Olan. "He won't know the difference," he added with a wink and gave the creature a tiny shove to get him on his way again.

Martin listened to the two chatter back and for, his own mind coming to revelation that his condition was not so far off from Olan's if he chose to speak. Taking one last drink of his ale, the prince put it down on the table, waving a bit as he turned on his chair.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Loukin asked as Martin muffled up a belch.

"I's f-fi… ahem! I'm fi-ine," he managed to grumble out with all the grace of an inexperienced drunkard. Giving his head a shake, the prince looked back up at the dais where his father sat alone on his throne, conversing lightly with Baron Elrad who stood attentively by his sovereign. The court had already farewelled the queen and princess along with most of the noble ladies at the tolling of the twelfth bell and now as they closed in on the second, Martin could see the weariness in his father's expression, but his resilience to stay until the end. The prince gave Matthias a tilted smile when the king noticed his gaze and tipped his goblet to him in recognition. Martin placed his paw over his heart and went bowed his head respectfully when the ottermaid whipped violently in a circle, screeching a call to the stars before clasping both paws above her head and thrusting them downwards in a stabbing motion. Martin body tensed as a puff of blue and green smoke erupted at her footpaws and the drummers rolled their beats together while she flapped the cape about her body, spinning downwards until she was below the smoke and out of sight. Two quick moments the smoke cleared and all that was left was her cloak upon the flagstones.

"Amazing!" Loukin laughed and pounded his paws together in applause. "Did you see that- she vanished!"

"In'redible," Martin elided, willing his eyes to focus on singular cape discarded on the ground. Four times he blink before he saw it move. Slowly at first the fabric rippled, its blue satin sheen mirroring the waves of an ocean, rolling faster and faster with the drums until yet another cloud of thick smoke bubbled from under the folds, hiding the cloth from all onlookers. Everybeast was silent throughout the entire hall; all were completely captivated as the blue silk snaked upwards, winding and bending with the swirls. Giving a final twist, the cape flapped down to reveal a mousemaid in a black organza skirt glittering with silver threadwork and strands of beads and coin-like rounds hanging from her waist. Her midsection was bare, causing many low whistles and hoots from the lords, and her upper body was completely covered with the same black material which curled around her neck and over her head. Like her squirrelmaid counterparts, the only thing visible of the maid's face was her eyes which had been outlined with heavy applications of coal and silver fleck.

"What's do we 'ave 'ere," Olan snickered with a mouthful of bread and looked at Martin's gaping face. Sloppily brushing the prince's tunic flat, the squirrel straightened his state collar, muttering incoherent advice about swordplay and ear licks that were drowned out in hammering sound of the mouse's own rushing blood.

A mijwiz broke the anticipation like a hammer on glass and the maid twined her paws up over her head and gave each of her hips a flick to the sound of a riqq as she began her own routine of combined dance and acrobatics. Gracefully she weaved about the floor, lasciviously curling her body and twisting it into knots before cartwheeling out of it without hesitation. Around her waist the silvered rounds jingled and jangled teasing the eyes with flashes of light and ensuring attention to their ease of motion forward and back, side to side. Even her barest of movements were betrayed by the dangles and when the maid tormented the crowd by pretending to execute a pawstand, rising just high enough that her skirts started to fall downward, she tumbled forward to the groans of the onlookers. Bounding to her footpaws in a fluid motion her head coverings fell to the back of her shoulders into a shimmering silver cape and her long chestnut coloured headfur toppled loose to her mid back.

All around Martin, the nobles watched with calculated appreciation; this was a performer that could be commended for such attributes as artistry, execution and _other assumed talents_ to be thought and not said.

The music quickened, the drums hurried their pace and the maiden worked her way to the opposite side of the Feasting Hall, playing to the crowd as she went. Abruptly, she turned towards Martin and sprinted, doing three cartwheels and springing into a double flip through the air; landing softly and floating down into a forward split at the prince's footpaws.

Martin looked down at her in awe as cheers for her routine thundered from the gathering and her the troupe's hedgehog announcer strode into the center to proclaim the entertainment concluded. Without thinking, Martin extended his paw to her to aid her rise and smiled slightly when she winked at him. She was different than the other maids- confident and bold emulated from her when she gave him a quick curtsy and stepped away to return to her fellow beasts. Slowly, she walked away from him, glancing over her shoulder and giving him another wink before disappearing into the crowd.

"I's thinks our Captain 'ere 'as a bit o' a fan there," Olan mused and clapped Martin on the shoulder. "Ne'er seen a beastie bend 'n half like that- might makes fer an interesting feature…"

"Shh, Olan," Klein shushed him and picked the squirrel's paw up off the prince's shoulder. "Keep your addlebrained ideas to yourself."

"What?" Olan hissed at his friend. "He's old enough…"

Loukin peeped around behind the still standing prince. "And we all know what that maid will be thinking."

"Yeah," Olan huffed and mumbled under his breath. "A promise o' a g'night ahead."

Gradually, the creatures started making their departures to their feathered beds once King Matthias retired for the evening. As predicted Klein had to shoulder his drunken friend home and promised the prince Olan would be the first beast to the Tilt Grounds in the morning.

Martin hung back with a few of the nobles of his acquaintance; ones who had resided in Vasilis as wards of the crown and other sons from notable lords throughout the kingdom. Eventually, they too turned in for the night and Martin found himself one of the very sparse nobility still in the Feasting Hall. Around him servants bustled about with their cleaning and a pawful of Guards went around helping passed out creatures back to their lodgings. Tables were scrapped down and buckets of soapy water tossed over them for a scrub while the floor was swept and mobbed.

The prince slumped down into a chair and rubbed his eyes with his left paw, trying to get his bearings. He had never felt so drunk before that he couldn't focus his eyes, but then he had never drank that much ale before. Lots of wine, but not much ale. Twice he tried to get up to go to his chamber, but felt the hall spin around him and he promptly sat down again. Drinking had helped forget his feelings for Malina, but it had come at a hefty price.

"You be needin' 'elp ta git ta your room, Your High-ness," a voice chuckled behind him. Martin spun on his seat to view the mousemaid from the finale walking up to him wearing a long robe with delicate silver embroidery.

"I'll be a'ight inna moment," Martin blabbered out, yanking a chair out beside him and tapping the seat in silent command. The maid giggled and sat down on the bench opposite Martin as the prince adjusted into a more regal position. Forcing himself to sit upright and assert his station, Martin smiled when he noticed her eyeing him with as much eagerness as he beheld her in not a bell ago.

"What is your name?" he asked in a more princely tone.

"Asha," replied the maid, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile. "I be askin' you ta same t'ing, 'cept ev'y beast knows of t' Red Prince."

"Is that so," Martin mused and reached back for his previously abandoned ale mug, taking another drink as if he believed it would help him focus his eyes.

"Aye," Asha said softly. Switching to the seat beside Martin, she forwardly touched him on the chest and felt the richness of his tunic, weaving his gold collar through her fingers to catch the rubies in the torchlight.

"They be real jew-els, sire?" she asked. "I ne'er seen a real gem afore?"

"You were covered in them," Martin countered and enjoyed her touches. "I saw you."

"Fakes," she whispered. "They be fakes t' ones we wear."

While she spoke, Asha drew a line straight down his chest with her forefinger and going shamelessly low before slowly pulling it back up and twirled it in a circle in the center of his chest. Through her motions, she watched and bit her lip suggestively.

"Now, that was just mean," the prince moaned at her touch.

"I did not mean t' offend, Your High-ness," Asha said slyly. "I'll leave."

As the maid stood to leave, Martin stretched his footpaw across the space, blocking her path. Asha stared at his blockage for a moment before giving him a carnal glare.

"The only way you're leaving is with me," Martin slurred and nodded his head towards the corridor leading to western wing of the palace; towards the royal apartments, towards his private chambers. His mind was fuzzy against his judgements and only one thought, one need was able to burst through his drunken haze.

Asha smiled at him and dipped into a quick curtsy. Picking up her skirts, she lifted one footpaw over Martin's leg and straddled him. Leaning into his ear, she spoke as soft as warm honey,

"As you command, sire."

Martin grinned triumphantly as she pulled away and started walking towards the door. The prince stayed seated for her retreat, appreciating the sway of her hips and letting his blood race at their rhythmic movement.

"Are you comin', Your High-ness?" Asha questioned when she reached the door and noticed he wasn't following her.

"Not for a while yet," Martin chuckled under his breath and downed the contents of his mug before throwing it aside before stumbling off towards her and the promise of an exciting night in his chamber.

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**A/N: So this version of the victory feast is a lot different. When I re-read this chapter from Elderstar I saw two things that stood out to me right away. One- the original did not do Asha's entrance any justice and, two- Matthias was completely stupid not to see the budding love interest between Martin and Malina. So needless to say, I sot to remedy those two things in this rewrite. (How'd I do?)**

**Also, I struggled a bit with the beginning of the chapter, but my focus was more on the dancing, in particular the walzma. It is a dance of my design and is actually done to the beat of "Promentory" from the Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack, whereas the Veils of Vilcanor are very Arabic/Middle Eastern inspiration.**

**Anyways... PLEASE REVIEW!**


	18. Rude Awakenings

**First things first- thanks to Thomas the Traveler and Shadowed One 19 for their reviews of chapter 16. It's much appreciated!**

**Second- I'm cringing at the word count here. I've tried to cut as much needless dialogue, etc. out and spliced it this way and that trying to make two chapters out of this one LARGE one, but it just didn't work out. My apologies in advance for the heavy read.**

**So without any further ado... Chapter 17!**

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**Chapter 17- Rude Awakenings**

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Martin moaned at the distant sound of fisted paws pounding on his door.

"Your Highness?" a loud voice emulated from the outside his chambers. "Your Highness?"

"Sleeping," Martin murmured under his breath and rolled over to snuggle deeper into his bed of… cold rock. Batting the ground with his paw, the prince felt about the flagstones and mortar before slapping a puddle of liquid with his paw and hitting an object that rolled away from his touch.

_Bang, Bang._ "Erm, sire? You awake in there- it's well past dawn…"

With a pitiful groan, Martin opened his eyes slightly to the rush of sunlight blinding his sight. Shielding his face with his paw, he was able to squint enough to see the white stones of his terrace and the marbled columned railing running around its perimeter.

"Why am I on the balcony," he grumbled out and forced himself into a sitting position.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._ At the third set of thumps, Martin knew it was not a rapping at his door causing the sound, but blood beating his veins against his skull. Raising both his paws to cradle his head, the prince wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of currant wine and looking at his palm saw the liquid dripping from his claw tips.

"What in the Seasons…" he began and peered down at the floor beside him where a silver chalice lay tipped on its side and a small pool of red wine centered an array of splattered dots drying in the southern sun to stain the marble. "What- ahh..." Martin growled at himself and held his head against the new sensation of an axe head driving straight down the top of his cranium.

Running his clean paw over his face, Martin held his lips in subconscious preparation as he breathed deeply through his nose and puffed out hot, sour air from his mouth.

"Your Highness?" a voice called from his chamber and he heard the gentle creek of his door open wide and the rustle of beasts entering. Immediately, questions littered the air.

"Great 'Gates, Klein- where is he?"

"What happened in here?"

"Why is the furniture moved?"

"Your Highness- _Prince Martin?"_

"Stop shouting," Martin whined and moved his paws to hold his ears against the sounds aggravating his already paining head. "Why are all you yelling…?"

At the sound of his voice, six heads popped out from draperies.

"Ah, so it was true," Loukin snickered at the sight of their prince. Giving Klein a wink he said. "Guess I won the bet, huh?"

"What's true?" the prince questioned. "What bet? Why am I on the balcony? Why?"

"Not remembering much about last night, Your Highness?" Klein stated and observed Martin's state of apparel had not change since the feast apart from his discarded red cloak, state collar and his…

"Tipper- did you see the Etifedd's coronet by his captain's cloak?" Klein snapped and looked at the prince's pawbeasts.

"Come to think of it-" he mused. "No lieutenant- I didn't."

"Hellsgates!" Klein swore. "Tipper, search the chamber for it and you two-" he said pointing at Martin's other two servants, "clean up the mess in there before any advisors think about making an appearance. No doubt they'll be along shortly."

As the three pawbeasts scurried to their orders, the lieutenant continued, "Loukin, let's help Prince Martin up."

"What'll I do, chaps?" a young hare private named Rian chirped up. "I say I can help, wot!"

"Just stay out of the way, Rian," Klein ordered and the hare straightened up to attention while he awaited his next orders.

"Hares," Loukin chuckled at the sight of the young private. "Practically busting at the keel to be up here in the royals' chambers, yet he'd stand there all day if y'made him!"

"Why are you all here?" Martin grumbled out as the two approached him.

"Missed you on the Tilt this morning, Your Highness," Loukin winked. "Thought we'd come and make sure you were still alive!"

"Pleasant time last night after we left, Your Highness?" Klein smirked at Martin rocking on his bottom.

"I, uh…" he managed to answer before letting out a rumbling belch.

"Well, a mite more than that dancin' maid did," Loukin laughed and knelt beside the prince. "She was mighty upset she didn't get to enjoy you when she got back to the hall!"

"How do you know I… I mean, she," Martin stumbled out before flushing slightly as the otter's words started sinking in. "You mean I didn't-"

"Well you see, Your Highness," Klein said with a calculated tone. "It seems you were unable to perform."

Martin crimsoned redder than his battle cloak and gaped at the two Guards, his astonishment momentarily pushing aside the nauseous feeling starting to take hold of his body.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered out and swallowed a large lump of pride and bile. What did they mean he wasn't able to perform? He vaguely remembered bringing Asha to his chamber, pouring them wine and showing her the sea from his balcony. He recalled a vague image of their kiss, the faint feeling of her paws touching him and then… it all was a black blur. Surely, he'd been able to- he had to have…

"Ah, don't scare our prince like that, Klein," Loukin chortled and clapped Martin on the back none too gently before adding, "You passed out before you two could get to anything like that, Your Highness."

"I passed out?"

"Aye!" the otter said. "One sip of wine and she said y' crumpled to the floor like a butterfly in a windstorm!"

"You talked to her?" Martin questioned, resuming his sorry state of bodily pain and dizziness. "You talked to- to Asha?"

"No. I was helping some poor lady pull her gallant syr up to their chambers when that maid stormed passed looking for a way out. Oh, she was mutterin' curses at you that was for sure!"

Half chuckling, half groaning, Martin lowered himself back down onto the hard surface. He must have passed out on his balcony and she left him where he fell.

"You're mighty lucky, Your Highness," Klein said carefully, not wanting to scold the young prince, but couldn't help the father in him coming out. "She doesn't seem to have taken anything…"

As if on cue, Tipper popped his head out from around the curtain. "Er- Lieutenant Klein? We have a problem."

"What problem?"

"Erm, you see," the squirrel started. "Well, I found the Etifedd's coronet on the bed easy enough, but, erm…"

"Just spit it out, Tipper," Klein commanded and the pawbeast simply held up Martin's state collar.

"Didn't this have rubies on it last night?"

"It sure as hell did!" Klein growled and Martin raised his squinted eyes briefly to view the gemless gold wreath before groaning and putting his head back in his paws for more than one reason.

"Rian!" Klein barked and the hare sprain forward. "Go to Syr Donovan and Lieutenant Condor- tell them to find these _Veils of Vilcanor_ and have them arrest this- Asha- for theft of crown jewels."

"Yes, Sirrah!" the hare said and through his commanding officer a salute before dashing out of the prince's chambers.

"This just keeps getting better," Martin sighed. "My head feels like it got smashed by a bola, I'm humiliated and I've been robbed…"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of ale, Highness," Klein said and tried to hold in a laugh. "Not every creature can be a champion of cups like Olan."

"If I feel like this, I can't imagine he's even breathing."

"Breathing and already at the Tilt, sire," Loukin winked. "Like the lieutenant said, Olan is a champion."

"Come on, Prince Martin," Klein affirmed, holding out his paw to the suffering royal. "Up you get- I'm sure you've got a full day ahead."

Martin nodded and tried remembering the day's agenda, but his mind cramped tighter the more he thought and the higher he rose on his footpaws. Swaying once he was upright, the prince grabbed onto Loukin's shoulder in attempt to stop his wavering.

"Do either of you have some water?" Martin asked, desperately wanting to rinse the sour taste of stale ale and wine from his mouth.

"You have any water and you'll-" Loukin began, but stopped as Martin pitched his upper body forward and vomited on floor at Loukin's footpaws. "- retch."

Martin stumbled backwards and Klein grabbed him by the tunic to lead him into his chamber. "Alright, Loukin," the lieutenant laughed. "Time to get this mouse to bed."

"Why is everything spinning?" Martin moaned when Loukin pulled his soiled tunic and shirt off him and Klein helped him onto the feather mattress. Leaning back against the pillows, he murmured, "Why is everything so bright?"

"Go to sleep, Your Highness," Klein simpered.

"I can't sleep," Martin argued. "I have to meet my f… fa…"

Loukin gave a sharp whistle and out of nowhere a pawbeast tossed him a bucket; in one fluid motion the otter caught it and slid the pail across the floor to the bedside just as Martin leaned over to relieve his stomach of its contents again.

"I don't think you'll be meeting with any beast until tomorrow, sire," Klein informed him as Martin pulled the silk sheets over himself in misery. "Like I said- go to sleep."

The prince's stomach responded for him.

"Tipper- best leave the clean up until later," Loukin jested. "Might as well scrub it down all in one go when he's done learning his lesson!"

"We'll just organize tidy it up a bit," Tipper asserted and pulled a chair back across the floor with a spine-tingling screech.

"Noise-" groaned the sheets and pillows of the canopied bed. "No noise. No light. Go."

The group shared a chuckle and left the prince's chamber, Martin mumbling to himself as the door latch clicked shut,

"Welcome the dark; beware of the light."

* * *

"Are you going to make it?" the king said plainly as he twisted back on the stairs to glance at his son leaning against the cool stone wall a flight below him. Martin's eyes were closed and his mouth slightly agape as if the prince did not know if air would continue to go down his throat or if something was going to come back up… again.

"Martin?"

"I jus' need a mom-mo-moment," he stuttered painfully.

"We don't have time for a moment, son," Matthias chuckled and tapped his footpaw impatiently. "I said we needed to be at the prophets by dawn and it's almost midday- I let you sleep in as it is!"

"You should have left me sleeping," Martin groaned and rubbed his pounding skull. _You should have just let me die in bed…_

"And you should not have drank so much last night," his father retorted, wagging a pointed claw at the suffering beast. "You think because you win a battle you can swallow ale with the best of them? I knew what was happening the moment you joined your lieutenants at the tables."

"So, why didn't you stop me?" Martin moaned and slapped his paw over his mouth at a threatening belch. Once the feeling receded, the prince inhaled deeply through his nose, willing his body to find some sort of strength, before exhaling in a slow measured pace.

"And miss this?" Matthias smiled with comical cruelty. "I warned you when you had your first goblet of wine to not overindulge. Now you know why."

"S'not fair," Martin mumbled and righted himself up again to continue ascending the stairs. "You should have reminded me."

"Oh, now Martin would you have listened?" the king laughed, clapping his son lightly on the shoulder as he drew up beside him. "Sometimes these lessons are better learned in practice than in lecture." Martin snorted his response and Matthias held in another bolt of laughter. "Don't be sore, son; my father taught me the same way, as has every father taught their sons over the seasons. Sometimes we have to let you trip on your own to see how well you pick yourself up after a fall."

"And how am I doing?" Martin questioned out of habit than actual interest.

"I'll decide that when the day is through," sniggered his father. "You have this meeting to get through and then one with the council. Not to mention your regular duties and… were you not to train with the Guard this morning?"

The prince grimaced at the reminder and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was, but I, well, seeing as myself and most of the Guard are in the same condition, Syr Donovan thought it best we all recover today."

"I suppose that is all he could do under the circumstances," observed the king and gave his son a stern reprimanding glare. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Martin. You didn't outwardly make a fool of yourself at the feast, but your private actions were, are, inexcusable. What do you mean taking a maid you don't know to your chambers? The theft aside- what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," he admitted. "I've already told you I'm… Father, I've already apologized to you for my actions."

"Thankfully _lack of action,"_ Matthias snorted. "Martin, do you realize what could have happened had you gone through with it? Great Seasons, son- what if you got her with child?"

The prince blinked at his father with a blank expression. "You told me how to be careful. You… well, you've told me before I could if I… that is if I ever wanted to-"

"Yes, with a maid within palace walls that we could watch closely and hush up if need be," Matthias countered. "Imagine the mess you would be in if seasons down the road a mouselet comes knocking on the door claiming to be your offspring? Not mention if it is a male? Martin- he'd have cause to claim the throne and Seasons help you if some disgruntled nobles backed him. You'd have a civil war on your paws just because you didn't think with the right head!"

"I know that, Father," Martin sighed, flapping his paws down against his sides. "I'm sorry."

"I suppose you learnt your lesson." Matthias couldn't help feel his frustration melt slightly as he watched Martin turning green again. "Or rather you _are learning it_. Don't let this happen again, Martin."

"Trust me Father, I never want to feel like this again," he rasped out. "I'd take being run through the gut than this pounding in my skull."

They continued their progress up another flight before Martin spoke again.

"Did they find her?"

"No," Matthias grumbled. "The troupe is gone as it would appear and the jewels of your forebeasts along with them."

Martin grimaced at the sting. "Surely, some beast saw the company leave."

"Oh they did," Matthias snipped. "On a merchant ship set for the Isle of Ormere. It would seem the rubies this Asha maid pried out of your state collar bought the entire gaggle of players their passage."

"Is Admiral Daelahn going after them?"

"No. I called off the pursuit," the king informed him. "We may need all those loyal to us present for the next series of events and the Lord Admiral is a strong presence. I want to keep Daelahn close."

"So the jewels…"

"Can be replaced and no beast will know the difference. The few informed creatures have all been paid for silence." At Martin's puzzled look he added, "Or would you rather we let the news out and you can hear the stories of how a dancing maid couldn't get one set of crown jewels to work so she took a different pair?"

"Silence is good," Martin blurted out and flushed at the reminder of his failure. "How could I have passed out?"

"Because you drank your weight in wine and ale," Matthias grinned. "Son, no beast is able to- rise to the occasion under those circumstances." Though it was a mock, his father's words reassured Martin enough that he was able to finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

The two royal mice eventually made it to the last flight of stairs in the barren northern tower of Vasilis. Barred at all servants, the stairwell was adorned with intricately laced cobwebs rivalling even the finest weavers in the kingdom. Small piles of dust softer than sifted flour collected in the corners while the air of countless seasons' wisdom hung amid the exposed timbers. Even in the soft light that filtered through the narrow windows, the tower commanded a sense of awe and wonderment; its silence demanded humbleness and serenity as each step they took both mice trod the same line as their ancestors.

"It is hard to believe this was once the Tower of the King," Matthias said, breaking the quietness between them. "To think these stairs would have once bustled with activity and light."

"I've never understood why they gave it up," Martin confessed. "I know the tale, but it just doesn't make sense to me. All because a blind otter couldn't swim in the sea, they then put him in a tower. It makes no sense."

"Doron had moon blindness, son," corrected the king. "The scrolls tell us he was blinded by the light of the sun during the day, but could view the stars at night. The otter was born without a proper tail which made swimming for him difficult, and when coupled with his eyesight, made it almost impossible for him to live a normal life. Still, he went on to be an ensign to one of our first naval commanders, charting stars and coordinates from them. It was Doron who charted the stars response to lunar penumbra and the named the twelve seas of the sky. Your ancestor Maddoc gave him this tower as a gift for directing the fleet back to port after a gale blew them off course and they were seemingly lost at sea."

"So, he gave him the tallest tower- Vasilis' own royal apartments?"

"King Maddoc proclaimed the otter to name his price and Doron said he wanted to see nothing but the stars above him for the rest of his days. The northern tower is the tallest structure in Aurelius- being up here gave Doron the view he desired."

"And so began our astrologers," Martin stated, pressing his paw to his forehead in attempt to fight pressure with pressure. "And then the prophets followed?"

"Their residency, yes," Matthias replied, silently relishing the conversation of history and lore with his son. It had been three seasons since they last talked about anything that was not to do with the direct ruling of the kingdom; three seasons since they spoke with consistent civility while in private.

"Were they really in so much danger that-"

"Ah, Your Majesty," a sage voice sounded above, interrupting the prince's question. Martin eyes snapped to the top stairwell where an ancient looking squirrel stood with his arms held openly in front of him, his fur as white as the purest snow on the northern mountains. A green linen shroud draped about his body and was secured at the front of the mystic's left shoulder by a heavy silver clasp.

"We thought you would arrive at some point today," the prophet said plainly, placing his right paw over his heart and inclining his head out of respect as the mice drew nearer. "And Prince Martin, as well. We are honoured by your presence, Your Highness."

Matthias chortled at the phrase. "_At some point_- thank-you for putting it delicately, Celton."

"You knew we were coming?" Martin asked pointedly. The Prophets of Eutrusia had always interested him, always had he hung on their words recounted by his father. Although it was not his first meeting with them, he was fascinated by how they gained their knowledge and wisdom.

"Yes, Your Highness," the squirrel replied and motioned them toward the silvered double doors. "We have been waiting for you since dawn."

The three beasts moved in into the entrance chamber; a long oval room with two closed doors on both sides and a spiral staircase in the center. Directly in front of them, an open archway drew the prince's attention; its translucent sheers billowing inwards towards them and then back into the chamber in a beckoning motion.

The prophet led them around the twisting marble steps and onto a covered terrace. Lounges and piles of feather pillows littered the floor and the walls were covered with hammered mirrors and silver strappings along the edgework. Everything was in muted tones of gray and white, warmed into gentle hues by the southern sun and the balmy sea breezes. The tinkling of chimes peppered the air with vibrations of sound and heavy incents smoldered and smoked in their vesseled stands.

Martin's head spun at the smells of myrtle and laurel, exhaling loudly and lowering his head to regain some composure over his condition. He could hear his father conversing lightly with Celton, but instead of engaging in the topic, the prince rested his head in his right paw, trying to imagine everything was fine and when he opened his eyes again, the nausea would leave him and the axe splitting his head in two would magically vanish. Taking another deep breath, he started slightly at the feel of a soft touch on his left paw and a silver tumbler pressed into his fingers. The prince lifted his eyes slightly to view the kindly face of a white otter.

"Dravos," he breathed in greeting and cleared his throat against the constricted feeling to it.

"Drink," the mystic commanded. "It will calm your head."

Without hesitation, Martin greedily gulped down the steel tasting liquid. Almost instantly his stomach calmed and he could open his eyes fully instead of holding them half shut in a painful squint. Letting out a sigh of relief for the second time that day, the prince smiled his thanks and handed the beaker back to the prophet.

"How did you know?"

"We have ears, Your Highness," Dravos chuckled as two other creatures joined them. "I can only guess by the music and laughter of last night what today would be like for you."

"Let us be seated," Celton announced and motioned to a rounded table of ebony wood centering the room; its high polished top waved the graining of the wood like the depths of time and space, like an entrance to the prophets' third eye itself.

"Aleris and Shirin have been scrying, sire," Celton informed Matthias, motioning to the two creatures that came in late; a golden coloured squirrel and another white otter. "We are trying to force a sight, but as of yet, nothing has come."

"We have strained our eye and muttered the incantations, Majesty," Aleris offered as they took their seats. "But all we can see is the Seasons' mists."

"We need not your sight at present," Matthias said simply. "We need your knowledge," he implored them, pulling the scroll from his tunic and rolling it flat on the table.

The four mystics leaned forward in their chairs and observed the parchment for a moment before Celton cupped his claws over the writing in a shield like fashion.

"How did you come by this, Your Majesty?"

"My father failed to destroy it before his death," the king relented. "I found it amongst his belongings."

"This is a powerful seeing," Celton stressed, breaking from his calm demeanour to exhibit a hint of frustration.

"None have seen it save myself and my son," Matthias countered with a nod to Martin. "Please, we need answers from it. We need its guidance, its wisdom. The prince's path is still covered in the Seasons' mist you tell me and this is the only vision we have of my family."

"We had a vision for Prince Martin," Celton argued. "He is to lead an army to battle. He will be victorious."

"But when, where and against whom?" Matthias pressed. "It was a wisp of a seeing, a blink of your eye. You yourself told me that, Celton."

"We were lucky to see it as it was, sire," the old prophet put in. "Blink or no, we were very fortunate to see it."

"Yes, and we can prepare for it with this," the king said firmly and tapped the bottom of the paper. "For you cannot tell me this was simply a betrothal vision. It contains warnings more pertinent than the Seasons blessing a union."

The four were quiet, staring at each other in silent discussion.

"Dravos, please ask Rigel to come down," Celton said softly with a nod towards the spiral stairs. "With the charts. It is time he was told."

The otter rose from his chair to do attend his task while the others waited in silence for his return. Once Dravos returned and resumed his seat, Celton lifted his paw from the writing and looked directly at Martin as he spoke, his eyes never leaving that of the prince's;

"The moon shines brightest in the black of night,  
The sun flames red when the fight is right.  
The strength of the Fates will be born in two,  
While the Seasons' line begins anew."

"It foretells of a battle," Aleris stated, her golden fur shimmering in the sunlight. "It will be a bright moon, a moon to control the sea, to control the tides."

"And the dawn will host a red sun. A warning to those of impending fate, but a sign to let you know the fight is right- right to attack," Dravos carried on and tapped a hooked claw on the parchment. Looking at Martin, the white otter nodded. "These will signal your course is true."

"My course?" Martin gaped. "This is my father's prophesy- not mine…"

"King Matthias had his prophesy read long before you were even a glimmer in your mother's eye, young prince," Celton huffed comically. "I believe it was his twelfth season when his path was foreseen."

Matthias shifted in his seat as Martin gave his father a hard stare. "Then this is-"

"A prophesy of your line," the wise squirrel advised them. "A prophesy of things to come- but not necessarily directed at one sole beast."

Both mice leaned over the parchment now, studying it and rereading script once thought deciphered.

"There is a warning," Shirin rasped out, her voice as hoarse as coat was white. "There are two born to the Fates' ilk."

"Two?" Matthias whispered. "Then the Fates have a protected line as well?"

"Not so much protected as informed, sire," Celton replied tapping the side of his head, his eyelids flickering as he strained his eyes in the corridors of his sight. "They are informed of what is to come and so their power grows. Beasts stand against then, but their bravery is weak. If pushed too far, they will fail.

"That is of course- until borders are crossed."

"Martin," Matthias said and leaned back in his chair to observe his son. "Martin will have to fight these beasts for he is of the union between Valina and I. He is the Warrior to stand for All."

The four prophets nodded in agreement before Shirin read the next lines with her quivering voice:

"Bring forth the Scroll,  
Bring forth the Sword,  
Bring forth the Warrior,  
To stand for All.  
From their union he will come to hail,  
Across the borders he will not fail.  
Mists will hide true purpose laid,  
Though heart and honour will not fade.  
Bring forth the Maiden,  
Bring forth the Prince,  
Bring forth their Son,  
Eutrusia's Red Prince."

"The Etifedd's purpose for Eutrusia is hidden from us," Aleris affirmed. "But he is named here three times. He will know challenges, but his heart and honour will hold him true to his course."

"It then talks of a battle again," Martin said plainly. "Banners would mean an army- sands mean it takes place near a beach, but all the sands in Eutrusia are white not red."

"At the Battle of Wesrus, the sands were stained red from blood," the king added with a blank expression. "It talks of twin battles: The Uprising of Eurus and the Battle of Wesrus I led before peace resumed in Eutrusia."

"Is it?" Celton questioned, again looking directly at Martin. "I am not so sure.

"Banners high and blood red sands,  
Twin battles carve a peaceful land.  
Let him grow, let him flourish.  
Let his heart grow strong then warish.  
Bring forth the Dagger,  
Bring forth the Shield,  
Bring forth the Sword,  
To ensure their Yield-"

"This is a foretelling of things to come for your line, sire, not yourself," Celton continued. "It was a strong prophesy, felt by more than one of us. And some of us saw more than others."

"Then who of my line is it for?" Matthias said in exasperation. "How much of it is for me, for Martin… for his sons after him? Celton- we need to know!"

"Your Majesty," the seer said with calm serenity. "Anxious you are to know things we cannot control. The Fates decide our lines in life- they weave our pictures and decide our length of thread. We can only foretell of things to come when the gates are opened to us. Then and only then may be see the paths through the mists."

"What gates?" Martin pondered aloud and all eyes turned in his direction. The prince had stayed relatively quiet throughout the conversation and his sudden interjection caught the others off guard. "I'm curious how you realize your visions," he added under the attention.

"When a beast is born, their thread is cast upon the Arras of Life by the Fates," Celton began. "There it is woven into the Seasons' tapestry- its life mingled with others and paths decided by the colours it progresses to."

"But their spool is kept behind closed gates," Dravos continued. "Its length and fortunes hidden and all the Seasons can do are weave the thread with whatever colour it is given."

"Then why the seeings?" Martin asked pointedly. "If our fate is chosen for us, then what does it matter what will happen for it is already decided?"

"Because there is more than one place to weave the colours, Your Highness," Celton said. "The Seasons may not be able to change the life given to a creature, but they can change where their circumstances are placed and so alter the outcome of a beast's fate. An otter may be born blind to the sun," he mused and pointed to a bust of a slim otter holding an abacus and a spyglass across his chest, "but the Seasons may still grace his life with purpose."

"When a life is born, the Fates' open their gates to toss the thread upon the Arras," a new voice reiterated and the gathering turned to see a small group of short river otters collecting in the archway dressed in dark blue tunics trimmed with silver thread. A heavily stitched star was embroidered on the left sides of their high collars- signifying their station as Eutrusian astrologers. The oldest of the five stepped forward with a large roll of papyrus curled under his arm and he bowed to both the king and prince.

"We chart the stars and the moon at the time of the birth, drawing names from the seas of the sky for the newest royal," Rigel explained and gently laid the chart upon the table.

"Once the location of the gates is made and the name charted, we can enter the gates, Your Highness," Celton resumed his lecture. "We," he said motioning to his fellow prophets, "can then see the path the Fates have chosen for the youth."

"But you said my father's prophesy was made when he was twelve seasons old," Martin said, trying to straighten all the information in his mind. "I know he thinks himself wise, but he wasn't born twelve!"

They all shared a chuckle at the prince's jest to his father and watched as Matthias gave his son a playful flick on his ear.

"If the stars and moon align in the same fashion and under the same season, the gates will appear again," Celton nodded to Matthias. "The king was born under a waning moon during the winter solstice. Luckily for us, we have been able to see His Majesty's path on more than one occasion."

"And mine?" Martin pressed.

At that they were silent.

"We have never been able to see your path, Your Highness," Celton said finally.

"But you would have when I was born," refuted the prince. "The astrologers found my name- they would have plotted the gates… you would have been able to see _something."_

"Prince Martin," the senior astrologer interrupted and directed everybeasts' attention to the star chart now covering the ebony table. "Your stars were not as easy to read as others. You see, Your Highness, you were born under an Elderstar."

"A what?" Martin gaped and gave a puzzled look to his father. The king sat in his chair, expressionless to the words and staring straight at the chart; his eyes glazed over as if remembering conversations of long ago. "What's an Elderstar?" the prince muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"An Elderstar is when the moon is a crescent, shaped upwards towards the domain of the Seasons, while the two stars wreath the night sky above it. They are so bright all other stars veil their eyes to their brilliance."

The otter tapped a claw on the papyrus to a painted depiction of a darkened sky and the three cosmic symbols portrayed as described.

"Welcome the dark, beware of the light," Martin whispered the line of the prophesy. No beast seemed to hear him, but for Celton, who stared unblinking at the prince.

"You see, Highness," Rigel affirmed. "By the time we could chart your stars, the gates were closed and the prophets could not see your path."

"And it has never happened since," Martin stated, leaning back in his chair. "This- Elderstar- has never occurred since my birth?"

Dravos shook his head. "No."

"Do not despair, Prince Martin," Celton put in quickly at the deflated look to the royal mouse's eyes. "The Elderstar will come again- that much has been foretold and until then, the Seasons shroud you in mist for your protection against the Fates' eye."

"How do you know this?" Martin snipped, his mind full of questions, answers and more feelings of confusion than he had words for. "If I'm so hidden, how do you know I am protected- or rather, why I am?"

It was Shirin who continued to read the prophesy:

"When he is ready, his bloodwrath strong,  
Look to the east, its cors-like throng.  
Yet don't despair at an empty bed,  
She comes to you aft four beasts dead.  
Bring forth the Princess,  
Bring forth the Heart,  
Bring forth the Memories,  
The Arrow's painful dart."

And then Aleris spoke the final phrase:

"It all begins with an endless night,  
The Elderstar signals the start of the fight.  
Sides can be switched, enemies friends,  
Misunderstood subjects, bridges to mend.  
Courage for battle, bravery for life,  
Be wary of she who carries a knife.  
The Red Prince gives mercy where others use might,  
Welcome the dark; beware of the light."

"We do not know to which of your line each warning and blessing attach themselves to," Celton said sternly, rising from his seat and motioning for the meeting to adjourn. "I am sorry we cannot give you any more information than what we have, but our sight for the prince is limited."

Turning to Martin, the ancient prophet laid a withered paw on the prince's strong shoulders. "Remember these words and their meanings, my prince. Remember to be courageous in the face of battle and let your bravery guide you. Look for a dark night and a bright red sun. Your danger comes from the east with a corsair-like throng. Watch for an endless night, an Elderstar to signal the fight. Mind the Arrow and be wary of she who carries the knife."

* * *

"And there he stood, three hundred corsairs before him," Klein exclaimed and swooped his arms open over a group of wide eyed youngsters to elaborate the depiction of size from his perch on the fountain ledge. Around him, mothers continue about their washing, dually grateful for their children's entertainer and exaggerated story. Since their Captain was _unable_ to join them that morning, Syr Donovan had dismissed the Guard from their training and Klein quickly found his wife to help her with her daily chores. Stretching back up to his full height, the mouse lieutenant posed a gallant stance and pretended to unsheathe a blade from his belt. "He drew his great sword and-"

"-And told every beast to go home it was time for tea!" A squirrelwife's sharp tone snapped behind him. The young ones squealed and shouted in mock fright, laughing and rolling about the dusty cobbles. In no time flat, the squirrelwife had each child scurrying to their mothers and shooed off in the direction of their homes and cottages.

"Really Klein, battle stories? At their age?" she snipped and flapped her paws onto her hips.

"And why not?" the mouse chuckled and winked at the few brave maids sticking around. "It's about their prince. They should be proud of him…"

"Ah, yes," the squirrelwife mused sarcastically, tossing her paws in the air like she was worshiping the Seasons. "The Great Red Prince."

"Sure, make fun of him if you like," Klein shrugged. "Say what you like- go on. It's not going to change my opinion of him one bit."

The squirrelwife harrumphed and crossed her paws, tossing her nose up to the air to roll her eyes. "Rada, your husband's in love!"

"Respect for your commander and sovereign is not something to jest at, Salfin," Klein's gentle wife said softly from where she was scrubbing a shirt against her washboard. "It's an admirable quality."

"Yes, but I still don't see much good in this Prince Martin," Salfin huffed. "So he can kill a beast and order kegs to the barracks to make our males drunker and more useless than stumps over some sort of celebration. Ha! Does he think we're all noble creatures needin' a feast every time a beast blows their nose?

"No, I say, we don't," she snapped out before any creature could get a word in edgewise. "Orderin' players and barrels of wine to fill their guts- waste of good coin that is; coin that could better goes towards other places in the city, like… like the orphanages!"

"The orphanages Queen Valina sponsors?" Klein said with a raised eyebrow. "Or the schoolhouses King Matthias outfits with books from Vasilis' own archive collection?"

"Well, I mean- look at the mess up north."

"The north is a mess, but not because of Prince Martin," Klein said strongly. "He'll see Nilhand put to right, you'll see. He's got big plans for that state."

"Of course he's got big plans for it!" Salfin exclaimed. "Olan told me the size of the jewels coming from those mines. I just don't see how he attracts all the attention he does."

"Your ruddy hubby thought the same thing of him, Salfin," Klein chuckled. "But our Prince Martin changed Olan's mind quick-like. Mark my words; he'll be the greatest king Eutrusia's ever seen. Won't he Rada?"

Rada looked up from her washing and gave Klein a smile and soft shrug. Having never met the trumpeted Red Prince, she would not give her not give her opinion on the matter. Klein just looked at her and laughed. His wife was a quiet sort and she rarely gave her opinion unless she had a strong view on the matter.

"That has nothing to do with telling the young ones horrible battle stories!" Salfin stressed. "You should be promoting peace and…"

"Flowers and calm seas," Klein said rolling his eyes at the squirrelwife. "Aye, the whole pretty picture, right?"

"Exactly. I don't like the stories you and Olan tell of war. It makes me uneasy."

"Well, think what you like, the young ones like them!" Klein said happily and picked up the basket to carry for his wife once she placed the last article of clothing and washboard in the hamper. "Shall we go home, Rada?"

The mousewife nodded and wiped her paws on her apron before walking with him up the small embankment towards their home.

"Imagine not wanting me to tell the little ones stories about their prince," Klein grumbled as they made their way through the busy streets. "No wonder Olan spends so much time away from home and with other mai- Er, I mean, Salfin can be the most difficult of creatures most of the time."

"She is opinionated," Rada agreed quietly ignoring Klein's covered up statement. "Is he really as great as you say he is, Klein," Rada questioned. "Or are you just glad you came back with your whole tail in place?"

"Both!" Klein chortled. "The prince may be young Rada, but his wise beyond his seasons. He didn't jump readily into war and when pushed to it, he didn't shy away from the sword. He will make us a good king."

"King Matthias is a good king," Rada replied. "Apart from Wesrus, we have never had a major war since he came to the throne."

"No, he's a philosopher as you are, Rada," Klein winked. "He grew up in too much warfare from his father King Matteus, or so my ol' Da used to say."

The two mice continued their chatter as they weaved through the streets and alleys of the cottages, pausing briefly when they heard the horns blowing from the docks. Klein looked towards it with a puzzled face, listening to the signals.

"What is it, Klein?" Rada asked. "Why are the horns blowing?"

"New ship coming to port," Klein said taking her by the elbow and walking quickly towards their home. "One the watchers don't recognize. I'd better get down there and make sure there isn't any trouble."

Opening the door to their home, Rada retrieved the basket from her husband and took the washing over to the fire to begin hanging them on the drying hooks. Klein slipped into the single bed chamber and came out with his large battle axe.

Rada eyed him warily. "Isn't that a bit much?"

"Never know what might on that ship, my dear," Klein said with a wink. "Better to be prepared now than sorry later. Where's Rayley?"

"He's off playing down by the shoreline with some of his friends," Rada smiled at the mention of their son. "Loukin has them, Klein. They'll be fine."

"Right," the mouse grinned as the horns sounded again. "I'd better go. Stay safe, Rada."

"I'll be fine Klein," she giggled lightly and waved him off from the doorway.

"It's probably just a new merchant," she said under breath and rolled her eyes as other males with the same idea as Klein jumped into the streets with their weapons and made their way towards the great Aurelian port.

* * *

"Ne'er seen a welcome as this afore!" a plump mouse laughed as he leaned over the railings of the trade ship skimming its way into the bay. Adjusting his floppy velvet cap on his head, the mouse trumpeted to the others around him, "Lookit this, mateys! A full-fledged army has come to greet us!"

The crew looked over the side of the ship at the sight of the Guard forming into ranks on the dock where a mouse and a tall sea otter stood in front of them at the empty slip.

"Perhaps we should push off," another mouse said quickly. "They don't look very hospitable."

"And miss the chance of selling some of our fine wares?" the mouse laughed and pointed at _Mawredd_. "Lookit that ship o' there- gilded from stem to stern, she is. You really want to pass up on the wealth that is in this land?"

"Whatever wealth it be, it's not worth my neck!"

"Ha!" the mouse said and clapped his friend on the back. Directing his question at the burly river otter clad at the helm, he asked, "What're ya orders, matey?"

"Git us a slip n' a stand, mate," the otter gruffed out. "Ya know what t'do."

The mouse threw a grand bow at his commander as the ship scratched along the deck boards, jumping on the railing and throwing a line towards one of the dockyarders to tie off their vessel.

"Ahoy, my friends!" the jolly mouse yelled down at the gathering. "Tis a pleasant day when we are greeted with such… attention!"

"Good day, t'ya!" Admiral Daelahn shouted back, silently taking in the size of the crew and type of vessel. "What can we do you for, mate?"

The plump mouse cupped a paw to his ear and hung further over the side of the ship. "Sorry, mate- didn't catch that…"

"Like Hellsgates he didn't," Klein muttered to the Admiral before stepping forward and bellowing in a clear voice. "State your names and your business in Eutrusia!"

"I'm Gustaff- Master merchant and seller of fine silks and fabrics! We come to sport our wares, sir!"

"And where did you come from?" Klein pressed. The mouse had a rougher voice than he expected for the flare of his clothing.

"We aren't from anywhere!" Gustaff snorted and gestured a paw about his ship in a sweeping motion. "We sail where we please and trade where we like. Just come from the northern tip o' the mainland and looking for a place to weigh anchor and charter up some supplies."

"A long way ta come t' peddle some cloth," Admiral Daelahn put in.

"Cloth?" Gustaff gasped and climbed down the riggings of the ship. Hopping off the last few rungs, Gustaff strode easily over to the two beasts and swept them an exaggerated bow. "Silk and fabric, matey," he corrected them.

Every beast had a snicker at the comment.

"Alright, silk and fabric," Klein chuckled. "These waters are swarming with corsairs. How is it that you got past unscathed?"

"We have our own ways," Gustaff said with a nonchalant wave. "A corsair galley isn't strong enough to take my ship."

"Aye, yes, I can see how cloth is frightening in the morning!" Klein howled and turned to the rest of the Guard. Hearing the quiet hiss of metal, Klein had just enough time to raise the shaft of his axe head when a pair of long daggers struck down hard on the shaft.

"Hold those lines fast!" the Admiral commanded the dockyarders as he scowled up to the quarter deck where a majority of the ship's crew had gathered. "Call off your beast, mates, or watch him get skewered!"

Angrily, Klein swung his axe at Gustaff who nimbly jumped backwards out of the way with his paws held wide before leaping back into action. The two mice set into a heavy spar moving up and down the dock head, while the Guard shouted encouragement to their lieutenant and the crew hooted down from the decks. The duel seemed evenly matched until Klein went for a double pawed downward swing and Gustaff's long blades came up and locked around the axe head.

The lieutenant gripped his handle tighter and felt the strength of the blades hold his weapon at bay. Eyeing Gustaff sternly, Klein gave a small tug- the weapons didn't yield. Gustaff let a half smile creep onto his features as he responded to Klein's challenge by giving his blades a small twist, letting his opponent feel the ease of which he could be disarmed.

"Try it and you're a deadbeast," Klein growled out at the plump mouse.

"I'm not trying anything, matey," Gustaff sniggered. "Jus' showing you we can take care of ourselves is all."

Silently, the two stared at each other before getting large smiles on their faces. Acknowledging each other as skilled fighters, Klein and Gustaff each eased their weapons off and laughed like old friends.

"Thought you had me a couple of times there, matey!" Gustaff chuckled and clapped Klein on the back.

"You're an odd mouse, Gustaff," Klein snickered. "Name's Klein, by the way."

Gustaff stiffened quickly and shook his head before handing the Admiral his vessel's papers. "I beg your pardon; did you say your name is _Time_?"

"Klein!" the lieutenant laughed heartily. "My name is Klein. Lieutenant of the Eutrusian Royal Guard."

"Well, Klein, me matey," Gustaff jested and waved up to his crew to file of the ship. "Where can a beast get a good mug of ale around these parts?"

* * *

**So a bit of tidy up, explanations and introductions to new characters in this chapter. **

**Yep- Martin is the brunt of comedic relief here and a bit of a twist on the original with Asha lifting some of his jewels- that will come into play later, don't worry! ;) Matthias does give his son a bit of heck for his actions, but knows that Martin's hangover is punishing him way more than words ever could so he goes a bit light... Read the dialogue carefully. There's some hints for later in it. :o**

**Question for Readers: Did I make the prophets and astrologers clear enough? Did you understand the significance of the Elderstar?**

_**And**_** last, but not least... Gustaff cometh! Yay! :) Oh, and for those who love him- we get a LOT more of him in this version. :)**

**So we are one chapter away from an intermission chapter and I'd love to know your thoughts so PLEASE REVIEW! It really means a lot to me to get feedback and I'd really like to know if I'm being concise or too drawn out, interesting or boring... you get the picture; so scroll down a little further, type some comments in the box and hit Post Review. :)**


	19. Reforms and Summons

**Special thanks to Shadowed One 19 and Thomas the Traveler for reviewing the last chapter. :) We seem to have lost Blackish and Hamlet- where did you guys go?**

**Anyways, a bit of bridge chapter here. BUT the next chapter will be an intermission chapter and we get a look at a whole new group of characters! Super exciting.**

**Also, read the end author notes for a little bonus. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 18- Reforms and Summons**

"A _steward_!" Matthias laughed as he sat at the great stone table in the Council Chamber. Around the slate Baron Elrad of Seldor and Baron Falcor of Nilhand held their seats of state with Lord Admiral Daelahn, while chancellors and advisors took up the vacant chairs, leaving only the baronial seats of Eurus and Wesrus unoccupied. Leaning back in his chair, the king eyed Martin comically, "My son, you can't be serious!"

"Perhaps, the wine is still in his head," Falcor muttered below his breath and the few beasts closest to him snickered their response. Admiral Daelahn glowered at the baron, but Martin ignored the comment; sitting leisurely in his chair, the prince stared down the table at his father.

"Northerners lack confidence in our rule because we are rarely seen, Lord Father," Martin said in a commanding tone. "Our presence is infrequent in Nilhand and a steward would be our representative in our absence; a constant reminder Eutrusian solidarity."

"A _baron_ is the crown representative," Falcor seethed.

"A baron of Eutrusia is a representative of the state _to_ the crown," Matthias corrected him and gave the disgruntled squirrel a hard gaze. "Perhaps, if you remembered that, my lord baron, you would still have power behind that name of yours."

The squirrel skewed his face at the slight, but gave his sovereign a nod of respect. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Stewards tend to become over mighty, Prince Martin," an elderly chancellor spoke up to break the tension. "They go for long times without their authority challenge and rarely want to relinquish their power when the time calls."

"Given to the right beast, I believe it can be done," Martin countered. "One that will carry out the wishes of the crown in its stead, but also work with the Baron of Nilhand to ensure their subjects pride in their kingdom.

"We must make more of a collective effort to be seen throughout all of Eutrusia, not just in the south," Martin addressed his father directly. "You need to be on more progresses, Father. You need to be seen to support your whole kingdom and not just one half of it."

"Martin, you forget your place," Matthias warned him, shifting on his seat and rapping a claw on the table. "Do not pretend to tell me how to rule my own land."

"I meant no disrespect, Father," Martin stated and bowed his head slight. "I only meant to illustrate your subjects' need for inclusion."

"And what inclusion would you have me do, my son," Matthias said, crossing his arms. "You obviously have more in mind than a simple stewardship."

"Build a summer palace in the North and have us visit it from time to time," Martin said quickly. "Include the Northerners in the construction. Hold court there at times and share the Feast days amongst _all_ of your states. Let Eutrusia take pride in our family and the nobles we set to help us rule."

Grumbles and whispers erupted around the room.

"Build a palace!" Matthias scoffed and rubbed his paws on his face. "Martin…"

"Right here," Martin said pointing at the plain which they had their battle on the mapped table for all to see. "The land is flat and easily turned. It is a full day's heavy march from the sea and we can float the Royal Barges up the Eu from here once the dikes are removed across the eastern border. There are orchard groves to the south, a direct road to Ashbryar Castle and a stone's throw away from the mines past the village of Norwood."

"Norwood is a small village with a meagre market," Falcor said bluntly. "It would never support a palace."

"It would appear Baron Falcor does not travel north of his gates much," Martin snipped. "The waters of the Eu are deep there- the catch plentiful. I have already said there are orchards and the grounds will need to be worked, but that is easily solved with fieldpaws and seeds. Being as close to the river as it is will lead to easy trade routes and, as we all know, fires burn the warmest with Northern Pine. The resources are there for sustainability and I do not doubt the market will flourish once the news of a royal residence is heard."

Matthias smiled at his son's counter. "It sounds like you have already drawn the plans, Martin."

"They should be laying the foundations by now." Martin looked behind him and waved Tipper forward. The pawbeast started slightly at the gesture and walked briskly towards the table from his place at the wall with obvious nervousness. Martin gave him a reassuring smile as he accepted the large scroll and small wooden box from the squirrel's trembling paws.

"Foundations!" Matthias roared as Martin rose from his seat and started laying the contents of the crate onto the council table. "What do you mean foundations have been laid?"

"They were going to start quarrying the day we left," Martin said and pulled out a square block of grey sandstone. Placing it in the center of the table, he announced. "This is the stone for the walls and fortifications. And this," taking out a piece of verd antique, "is to be the flooring for all state rooms and royal chambers. All other areas will have slate flagstone."

Other building samples littered the table as the prince continued his summary of the palace materials. One by one, he explained their purpose and place within the plans before passing them down the lines of bewildered nobles.

"And this," Martin said proudly, lifting the thick scroll from the table and tipped it towards the king. "I believe will give you a more concrete vision of it, Father."

Matthias raised an eyebrow at Martin's offered parchment before waving a pawbeast to fetch it for him.

"And of all the times we have talked since you were back, you chose to keep this from me until know?" the king asked and shook his head at the smirk on his son's face.

"I thought it best left a surprise," Martin scoffed and a few of the nobles chuckled. The prince's grin widened as he watched his father study the layouts.

"And you drew this?" Matthias asked pointedly. Martin nodded. "Complete with a wing dedicated to a steward. Convenient inclusion."

"Perhaps."

"And you gave the order for them to commence building this palace?"

"Yes. It is to be named Caerhayes Palace."

"Very well, Martin," Matthias said sternly. "I suppose you need a project to oversee."

"Your Majesty, I must object!" Baron Elrad spoke up, surprising the council. "Construction of a palace is costly enough, but maintaining one is a different matter altogether. Nilhand does not have the resources to sustain Ashbryar Castle, its other lords' and syrs' manors and keeps, _and_ a royal residence on the cutting down of _trees!"_

"There are mines up there, Elrad," Daelahn hissed at his cousin. "And there are jewels in them."

"A few cast aside stones and granite shards," Elrad ridiculed. "They are nothing to the mines here in Seldor."

Martin simpered at the otter for a moment and then took a deep breath as if in defeat. "I thought you might say that, my lord baron." Reaching into the box one last time, the prince pulled out an object the size of an orange wrapped in a silken cloth. Laying it on the table delicately, he unfolded the flaps to reveal blood red ruby. Giving the gem a twist to catch the light, the jewel set the chamber aflame with dots of red light.

"They've called it the King's Heart," Martin said haughtily in their gaping silence. "It is the largest they've mined, but I challenge any of your mines to produce such a gem, Baron Elrad." Holding the ruby up in his paw again, he addressed his father, "This is to return to Nilhand and be placed in the head of the Caerhayes' throne. Forever will it remain there as a symbol of our family."

"And who will take such a valuable item back into the northern state," an advisor piped up from the silence.

"The Steward of Nilhand," Martin affirmed. "The beast who brings the King's Heart back to her state will be known to the creatures of the north that he is the king's appointed paw to govern them."

"And who would you appoint as your steward Martin?" Matthias questioned. "Who will be the Steward of the North?"

"I bow to the king's judgement," Martin said formally. "I merely suggest a solution. Your Majesty must make the final decisions."

"And I decide it will be your decision, Martin," Matthias chuckled and held up his paw when Martin went to speak again. "But I do not want your decision now. You obviously have a beast in mind when you created this position. I want you to think on your choice.

"In the meantime, the council will draw up a list of suitable creatures and we will meet again _tomorrow_ to discuss it," Matthias stressed.

Martin nodded and sat in his chair to show his compliancy with Matthias' ruling.

"And now I must conclude our council for the day, my friends," Matthias smiled, "For I must admit I am not as young as I used to be and after last night's festivities, I am exhausted- as I am sure a lot of you are as well."

Martin shot his father a hard glance as the council adjourned and nobles started filing out of the chambers. They had not yet discussed what was to be done with Ulran and Ulrick.

After packing away his items and giving the guards strict rules on where to place the large ruby in the palace treasury, Martin jumped to his footpaws and followed his father out of the chamber.

"That's it, we're done?" he said in exasperation. "Just like that?"

"Yes," was the simple reply he got back as the two regal mice weaved their way toward the western wing.

"We only discussed Nilhand and addressed its problems," Martin said sternly. "We didn't discuss the causes."

"The cause is immaterial Martin," Matthias sighed at his son's insistence. "It happened, they reacted, you fought, you won, and they are again at peace with Eutrusia. That book is back on the shelf. You've opened a new one with this palace of yours that needs your attention now."

"The protection of Eutrusia needs my attention as Captain of her Royal Guard!" Martin challenged. "And I will not have two traitors strutting about unquestioned."

"Enough, Martin," Matthias snapped at him. "Remember the old saying that a true king never sleeps and while you were nursing yourself back to a crude form of mobility this morning I was already dealing with the rulings of _my kingdom."_

At Martin's grimace, the king eased his tone and placed a paw on the prince's shoulder. "I have already sent for them, son; they should be here within a fortnight."

* * *

Screeches and screams howled from the depths of Calsley Castle, where a blackened wretch wailed curses and gnashed teeth at the small window of bars in the cell door.

"Easy, mates," Syr Fendrel chided them as a group of five Eurian guards jumped and held their spears tighter, their weapons' tips pointed at the thick timbered blockage. "He's not getting out of there for a long time."

"They say it's a cursed creature," one of the guards whimpered. "Able to walk through walls and…"

"Scary tales to put ya'll to sleep at night," the commander scoffed. "If the thing could walk through walls, do ya think he'd still be in there, eh?"

The young guards looked less than convinced. "Just hold those spears ahead o' ya and don't listen to a word he hisses out- or that wench down the hall." Walking to the other cell door, the otter looked into the chamber. "Comfortable, your ladyship?"

"Don't even talk to her," Baron Ulran commanded as he descended the stairs and into the circular dungeon. Leaning on his prop to take the wait off his injured leg, the mouse sneered at the door. "She's not worth the air to make your words."

"Course, Your Grace," Fendrel said quickly and backed away towards the jumpy guards. Ulran gave his commander of guard a curt nod before hobbling over to the lockup. Glancing inside, he saw her light gray fur illuminating in the torchlight.

"Ulyssa."

"Brother."

"Are you ready to confess your crimes?"

"I will when you do, Ulran."

"You will die- you understand that," he pressed. "I will notify the king of your treasonous conspiracy and you will meet an axebeast."

"Then how would me confessing anything make a difference?"

"I can tell them to sharpen the edge," he sneered in distaste. "Or make sure it is dull."

"You are a cold beast towards family, Ulran," Ulyssa laughed. "I hear you have Ulrick locked in his chambers with guards posted at every door. A fine way to treat your heir."

"Leave Ulrick out of this," Ulran snapped. "He is not thinking straight; his mind has been poisoned by you and that creature."

A vicious smile curled her lips. "That line will only work for so long, Ulran, and besides, what was that curse the seer said when you stabbed him- those you love will never listen? Will be a horrible thing if it's true and your words become empty."

Ulran huffed at her and spun on his heel away from her. He'd wasted enough time on her already.

"Keep a tight watch on them, Syr Fendrel," Ulran directed as he stepped gingerly over to the stairs. "Remember- take no orders but those from me regarding them."

"Aye, Your Grace."

The baron grunted his response and made his way back up the stairwell, leaning heavily on his cane in one paw and grasping the railing firmly with the other. He wasn't even supposed to be out of bed yet; the healers had advised he stay immobile for at least a fortnight to let the stitches take hold of his hideous wound from the creature's dirk that ran almost the length of his leg. But Ulran couldn't sit still and be placid when there was so much to be done since his battle with the demon in the archive room and it was by the skin of his teeth that he had emerge victorious from that combat. Only once had his blade met the skin of the black vermin, but he had received many injuries from it. It had been sheer luck that Syr Fendrel had returned back from his post at the border with a score of guards when they heard Ulran's yells and crashed into the library with their spears to corner off the creature. Together with his guards, Ulran had forced the beast into the castle dungeons while dragging his sister with him by her headfur. He had ordered Ulran be locked in his rooms under arrest before giving into his wounds and failing unconscious. The next morning he had awoken to a body covered with stitches and Dalila keeping vigil beside him.

Reaching the top of the steps, Ulran let out a groan from his efforts and a guard came forward to clasp his elbow.

"Are you alright, y'Grace?" the vole said quickly. "Maybe you should sit down a spell."

"No, thank-you, Dax," the baron breathed. "I just need to get back to my chambers. Where is Kirk- I asked him to wait here for me?"

"He went to collect so missive for you." The vole slowly let go of the baron once he found his balance. "Asked me to come escort you to your chambers if you need me-"

"Ulran?" a light voice fluttered from the joining hallway and the baron looked up to see his wife striding towards him. "My lord, there you are! You promised me you were staying in bed."

"I had some beast I had to talk to," he replied and took a few shaky steps in her direction. "I'm done now. I'll go rest."

Dalila smiled at him and looped her arm around his free elbow to help him walk forward.

"You're getting stronger," he commented after a backwards glance to see her pawmaids were far enough behind. "You're almost holding me up now!"

"This is not a joke, Ulran," Dalila exclaimed. "You need to heal. You need to rest."

"I will, love," he whispered to her.

"I have been to your small advisors meeting this morning and they assure me of their support in this matter of state," Dalila informed him. "Although, they did voice a concern over Lord Ulrick and his… questionable future."

"My son has a future," Ulran grumbled. "I will see to it."

"Ulran-"

"I don't know what I'm doing yet, Dalila," he said shortly. "Regardless of what he's done… Dalila, Ulrick is still my son."

"He is a traitor."

"He's still my son," the baron whispered and turned to face her. "He was under the influence of my sister- the true traitor. Now that he has been removed from her grasp, he will bring himself about."

"You have been making excuses for him his whole life, Ulran," Dalila scoffed. "It is time you stopped and let the Seasons and Fates decide his fortune.

"His head belongs on a pike," she stressed in their silence. "Inform my brother of their crimes and have him condemn both of them to death along with that horrible creature of theirs."

"And watch my son die before my eyes?"

"Ulran," she started softly. "I understand your indecision here…"

"You don't understand," Ulran snapped. "I held Ulrick's paws for his first steps- tickled his belly just to hear him laugh. I taught him how to hold a sword… you never had children; you don't understand what I'm going through."

The baroness was silent, her eyes like ice. "No. I do not." She held his gaze for moment then released her hold on his arm. "I have no idea what you are going through. All I know is that beasts wanted my nephew dead and though they did not succeed, the intent for murder was there. Plotting to kill one of the royal family is treason and traitors die."

Before Ulran could make an argument, Kirk came trotting down the hall.

"Your Grace!" he called and waved his paw at them. "And Baroness Dalila! This just arrived from Vasilis."

"Probably just a missive from the prince telling us of his victory," Ulran predicted. Taking the scroll from the servant and breaking the seal, the baron began to read the script.

"Or a message from Queen Valina," Dalila said with a smile. "I have been waiting for her letter." Turning to the pawbeast, the baroness added, "See the messenger is fed and rested, Kirk. I will have my response to him within the hour."

Kirk gave her a shifty glance and watched as Ulran's brow furrowed in concentration as he read the parchment. "Erm, the messenger has already left, Your Grace."

"Already left?" Dalila gaped. "Messengers are to wait for a response. Who was the deliverer?"

"One of the white and black seabirds."

"A sooty tern?" Dalila sputtered, knowing their importance. Turning to Ulran she noted the scowl on his face. "My lord what does the missive say?"

"It's from your brother," Ulran snorted and pierced his lips into disbelieving smile. "The king commands me to return to court immediately. And with Ulrick at my side."

"Commands you?" the baroness asks and takes the offered message from her husband. Glancing at the paper, she read the hastened words. There was no warmth, no familiarity in them; only cold, distant letters scratched out in ink. The obscured thumping noise from Ulran's cane broke her concentration and she looked up to see him shuffling away from her. Setting her jaw in determination, Dalila picked up her skirts to follow him.

"Why is my brother summoning you and Ulrick in such a fashion," she demanded. "Surely news of- of _this_ has not reached his ears already?"

"I have not the faintest idea what the king wants, Dalila," Ulran replied in painful voice. "But I must obey his wish and prepare to leave immediately."

"Are you taking Ulrick with you?"

"Yes. As you read it is the king's command."

"I am coming with you," she said defiantly.

"No," Ulran countered. "I need you to stay here in Lysium and keep safe. Seasons only know what Matthias wants after a letter like that."

"Which is why you need me by your side," Dalila pressed.

"No."

"Yes."

"Dalila, you are too weak to travel."

"So are you."

"Yes, but I will heal along the way- you may just grow weaker. I want you here in Lysium where I know you'll be safe."

"I am safest with you."

Ulran gave a great sigh and stopped at the doors to their baronial chambers. "Why aren't you listening to me?"

* * *

**Alright, so like I said, a bridge chapter. Martin is reforming some Eutrusian politics and building up the north, while Ulran gets a summons from Matthias to drag his ass back to court. We see the Ruspic has been captured at this point and Ulyssa is behind bars, but we'll see how long that lasts! Muwhahaha!**

**Alright, so the bonus. Each reviewer of this chapter can vote for a segment about their favourite or most interested in character, and I will write a short story about it and post it in the companion piece to this story, Behind the Palace Walls. The characters to choose from are: Lieutenant Olan and his first day as a Royal Guard; Lieutenant Klein and how he first met Rada; Ulyssa at the Etifeddes' Presentation Feast; or Gustaff's drink with Klein at the tavern. Trick is- you must REVIEW the chapter or give your two cents about the story as a whole so far for your request to count! The character with the most request wins!**

**So remember... REVIEW and don't forget to vote! Who will win- Olan, Klein, Ulyssa or Gustaff? Voting to close once I post the next chapter for this story...**


	20. First Intermission

**Alright, so we have our first intermission here and a look at some new characters. It is short, but it gives us a breather from the Eutrusian scene for a chapter. Please let me know what you all think about it!**

**So, thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter- Shadowed One 19, Hamlet, Blackish and Thomas the Traveler. They seemed to be my dedicated quartet of reviewers and I am thankful to them for taking the time to review. That being said- I would love to hear from some others! Come on- write a comment or two about the story. I don't bite! (ha ha ha)**

_**And... **_** Of course you all would pick the one segment I didn't have mapped out, but regardless- the ayes have it- Gustaff and Klein it is! Give me a few days to dream something up and type it out, and it will appear in Behind the Palace Walls.**

**So, without anymore ado... **

* * *

**Chapter 19- First Intermission**

_"Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden."  
__ - _Plato, _The Phaedrus –_

* * *

Before the sun could ever rise on the eastern horizon of Eutrusia, its golden beams of light first dawned upon the mainland. Far across the seas to the east of Eutrusia, past the Isle of Ormere and its tall iron mountains; away from the sand bar and over the sea's whitecap waves where only the bravest sailors ventured; beyond Wrekhip Isle and the rock reef protecting the red-brown sands of the distant shore lay the land of Southsward. A once mighty territory encompassing the bottom half of the mainland, Southsward was a vast country stretching from the southern point and the surrounding islands of the Southern Sea upwards through lush forests and clear inland lakes to its northern boundary- a desert wasteland called Asynth's Ditch.

Along its western shores, it bore fishing villages and port towns dependent on the sea for survival and in the south-western tip of the land amidst the great forest of Hewney, the Seasons fourth stronghold lay as ancient ruins of bygone valour; its Southern Palace shambled in scattered rock formations overgrown with moss and vines. All that remained intact were the terrace gardens and Valdus Hall which housed the Seasons' Tree- its golden leafs boasting the grandeur of the Dawning Days when a line of Badger Lords ruled the kingdom, before the brave creatures wilted and died out in the hot southern sun. Around the derelict palace, the treed city of Constillion grew and flourished, becoming a center of learning and culture for the land.

In the east, the coastline was rocky and jagged; uninhabitable terrain and the waters treacherous. Deep and black the sea swirled about the crags and rapid-strewn inlets- daring creatures to navigate their fate amongst the waves. It was a lonely place, a hollow place. A place where few dared to tread and all avoided it like the rocks themselves harboured plague. The waves of the Eastern Sea hammered against the shoreline, sending raucous clapping sounds into the air as reminders of its strength. Relentlessly, the waters beat the rocks, driving at them more and more, harder and harder; like sentinels the waves held vigil over the rocky shore- keeping beasts away, or trapping creatures within.

The southernmost point of Southsward was born from the eastern coastline as it fingered down into a curl claw, creating a natural quay. On this plot of land rose the powerful city of Carminack; its giant walls and fortified harbour asserted its supremacy over all of Southsward. Trade was prominent, wealth endless to few, and access to major routes and islands plentiful. Most importantly, it housed the barracks and hall for the Southern Armies- Southsward's own standing army set to fight against the ever-attacking vermin. At all times, three of the five army generals were to be stationed in Carminack, making it the center for all things important; trade and military might.

But that was not all Southsward was; four borders, two large cities and a pawful of islands. Southsward was also villages and towns littered across the country in pockets, sticking to either river valleys or flat plains for farming. Beasts were involved in trade or the army, society simplified by those who had and those who had not. There was constant warfare as the Southern Armies marched against the growing hordes of vermin, trying to rid them of their land. Brave creatures sped away to the sound of the army horns and fought for their family and friends' survival. All males not directly involved in a trade were conscripted into the army legions and forced to do their duty to their country. Still, despite the warlike state of the country, it strove for peace and tranquility; the spring season was a time of awakening life and the promise of something new. However, in a small village settled amongst the forest meadows and the large River Karth, some things didn't change with the season…

_"Aurora!"_

The loud voice thundered through the open windows of a small cottage; its deep tone echoing off the surrounding homes and trees, causing each stirring creature to smirk at the familiar call while they went about their morning duties.

_"Aurora, you get back here right now-"_

Children giggled and males chortled as they continued chopping wood or gathering tools for the day's work ahead of them. A gaggle of wives grouped together at the village circle, ready to go to the river with hampers of washing, and at the second shout one held up her paw and knowingly counted down on her claws; four, three, two, one…

_Slam._

A cottage door bounced off the frame of the entryway, its latch and hinges clicking and clanking in protest at its violent closing before ricocheting back inwards into the home. Its escapee, a slender mousemaid in a green woollen dress and brown archer's hood, dashed onto the paths between the huts towards the trees. A quiver of arrows flapped against her back in her gait, a long bow in one paw and a fistful of her dress skirts in the other to ease her flight.

"Aurora, get back here right now!" the voice ordered again and a stern looking mouse appeared in the doorway wagging a paw in the air. "Do you hear me? Get your tail back here! _NOW!"_

Seeing her slip out of sight around a corner, the mouse gave a snort of frustration and crossed his arms over his chest to lean on the wooden doorframe.

"Aurora be givin' ya a hassle again, Luke?" a cheerful looking mouse exclaimed as he thrust a hammer into his belt and picked up a bundle of twined thatch to rest on his shoulder. "Bit early for a squabble, ain't it?"

"For most, yes," Luke replied and unconsciously pawed at an old battle scar on his forearm; thin black line running from his elbow to wrist. "But my daughter seems to run on her own schedule."

"That she do! What be gettin' her tail all bunched up this morning?"

"I told her stop running off into the woods on her own," Luke grumbled. "Now that its spring, the vermin will begin roving more. That and I may have mentioned the idea of going to Hersford with me to meet a few young mice- a few tradebeasts."

"Mayhap, she not be wantin' t' meet a tradebeast."

"Heran, I'm not letting her marry a legionnaire," Luke said firmly. "Even you betrothed your daughter to male in trade. Jonalin's a mighty fine smith and Ellerie'll be set for life without a worry about coin or security…"

"Aye, but Ellerie be a different maid than Aurora," Heran laughed. "Ellerie be content with the idea of settlin' down with marriage in three seasons, an' by t' looks o' her trottin', Aurora not be warm to the idea."

"About as warm as the river after a frost," Luke scoffed. "She is the most difficult maid in all of Southsward- maybe even the entire mainland!"

"Ya know," Heran said carefully and nodded across to a bunch of males jesting and shouldering rakes and hoes; one was staring off in the direction Aurora had sprinted off in. "Rouge, er I mean Regan, be takin' a shine t' Aurora. He be a legionnaire, but he be makin' it plain he likes her-"

"No, Heran." Luke shifted on his footpaws and scratched his greying chin. "I already told Rouge no, and if I need to tell him again I will. He is just looking at a pretty face and not seeing the fire in her eyes. Rouge wants a wife to make a home for him. Aurora wants a male to stand beside, not behind. They are two totally different beasts and would only end up fighting."

"An' ya not be thinkin' a tradebeast will want her to make a home for them?" Heran snorted.

"I'm hoping the sound of a jingling coin pouch dangling from her belt will change her mind. She's old enough to marry and I want to see she's settled before the Dark Forest calls my name. I want to know she is taking care of before I'm gone."

"Aurora be one maid I never be worryin' about, Luke. Ya raised a strong daughter there. She be more than capable of handlin' herself- don't be stressin' yar head about her.

"Well, I be off t' help Florin thatch the roof on that new cottage o' his," Heran chuckled and looked about the village. "Ya be seein' his tail 'round here this morning?"

"Not a sign of him. Perhaps he's off wooing Larsa."

"Naw- she be with the ol' wifer an' t' rest o' the maidens traipsin' t' do the washing. Ah, well. Best get started without him."

"Best get started, indeed," Luke mused and waved the jolly mouse off. Turning back to the path his daughter ran up, he let out a long sigh. "Aurora, you're the most difficult maid in all of Southsward," he muttered under his breath. "What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

_ Thwock._

The arrow quivered for a moment in the tree branch hanging over a babbling river. The shaft stilled its vibration, but the fletch fluttered slightly in the brisk spring breeze beside the other darts stuck into the wooden target. The archer reached over its right shoulder to take another arrow out of its quiver, notching it to the bow string and taking aim again. The shooter's expression was hidden by its pulled up hood, but its concentration evident in stance and movement. In one fluid motion, the archer pulled the fletch back to its cheek, releasing the hold on the twine and letting its string paw jerk back to a covered ear. The arrow sped through the air and landed itself deep in the wood beside the last shot.

_Thwock._

Four more arrows sped across the space between stand and target before the bow wielder huffed in frustration and slumped down on the rocky streambed, her skirts billowing out around her in the sudden drop.

Tossing her bow to the side, the mousemaid tipped her head back for the hood to slip off her ears, exposing her face and tousled headfur wound into a thick twist down her back. Bits of light coloured tresses fuzzed around her face where they had escaped the weave and her chestnut coloured eyes were hard with determination.

"He just doesn't understand!" she muttered and wrung her leather guard about her wrist. "Why will he not just understand that's not what I want?"

A twig snapped behind her and the mousemaid snatched up her bow and spun up to her footpaws to take aim at the sound.

"Then what do you want?" a mouse grinned at her with his paws in the air to show his defenselessness. "What do you want Aurora, because it would sure save Uncle Luke a whole lot of gray hair if you would just tell him!"

"Oh, Florin- you know better than to sneak up on me!" she chided him and lowered her arrow, slacking her tension on the bowstring. "How long were you there?"

"Long enough to hear you prattle on about not understanding," Florin snickered and strode onto the riverbed with all the confidence of his eighteen seasons. Adjusting his satchel strap over his plain maroon tunic and grey cloak, he added, "Havin' problems with your da again?"

"He's not listening to me!" Aurora exclaimed and sulked back onto her bottom. Hugging her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. "He just wants to wed me off. He doesn't care if I'd be happy or not…"

"If Uncle Luke thought that, he would have let Rouge have you when he asked," Florin said plainly and sat down beside her. "He does care, Aurora. Don't think he doesn't."

"I know," she relented. "But I'm not ready for marriage. There's too much I want to do with my life."

"Like what?"

"Well, I-" she started and paused. "You see, there's… What I mean is I want to… Oh- I'm just not ready alright!"

Her cousin just laughed at her. "If only you were as accurate with your mind as you were with your arrows!"

"My mind is accurate!" Aurora snapped and shoved him onto his elbows. "It's my heart that doesn't know what it wants."

"I suppose so," Florin said with a playful flick to her ear. "Uncle Luke said you can't use both at the same time- either your heart is working or your head. A feeling heart will make you braver than most, but a thinking mind will see you through the battle."

With a single syllable of laughter, he added, "Guess when your aim goes for tripe, we'll know your heart has started working!"

"Oh, hush-up." Aurora rolled her eyes at him before nodding to the satchel slung across the mouse's upper body. "What have you been up to this morning?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied and bit his lip against the smile threatening to erupt on his face.

"Uh huh, I know that 'oh, nothing,'" Aurora giggled. "Florin, what have you gotten into?"

The mouse sat up and looked about the trees as if checking the coast was clear. "Aurora, can you keep a secret?" he whispered.

"Yes," she whispered back and held in a laugh. "But why are we whispering- there's no beast around."

"I was up before dawn waiting by the road for a peddler to pass by," he said in a low voice. Fumbling with his satchel ties, Florin pulled out a raw cut purple crystal tied on a leather string. "I didn't have much coin, only the few bits I earned by helping the lumberers cut those trees down for Constillion's nobles this winter, but it's still alright, I guess."

"What is it?"

"It's an amethyst," he said with a smile and held it up to catch sun, speckling the area with violet spots of light. "It's a fighter's amulet really- to keep a beast safe in combat, but I think Larsa will like it. I remember her saying purple was her favourite colour."

"It's a nice gift, Florin," Aurora said as she leaned forward and skewed her nose up to admire at the necklace. "But if its fighter's amulet, shouldn't you keep it for yourself? You'll be joining the Southern Armies with the spring's recruitment. You'll be going to war."

"That's why I need to give it to Larsa." Florin brought the pendant down to hold in both his paws. "I need to have my heart settled so I can think with my head before I march off with the other legionnaires in the call-up. I- I need a clear mind to fight my way back to her." Taking a deep sigh, Florin looked Aurora in the eyes. "I'm going to ask Larsa to marry me. I'm going to give this necklace to her as an engagement gift- if she'll have me."

"O-oh," Aurora stuttered, not fully knowing what to say. Florin gave her a pleading look. "Oh, Florin- don't take my reaction to heart. I think it's wonderful. Really. Um, have you asked Teagan yet?"

"No," he sighed. "I was going to this morning- I mean, I am going there this morning. I'll ask Teagan for his daughter's paw and then I was going to propose to her tonight."

Aurora was silent.

"W-what?" he stammered out, nerves suddenly twisting his tongue. "Do you know something I don't? Aurora, you're friends with her- do you think she'll say no? Maybe she doesn't feel the same way for me that I do for her…"

"No, no, Florin, it's clear she favours you above others," Aurora asserted and got to her footpaws to take up her archery again.

"But…" Florin drawled out as she took up her stance. "Aurora, if you know something, please tell me before I make a fool of myself."

Pulling the string taunt, Aurora paused her aim and sighed. Slacking it off, she turned her attention back to Florin. "I don't doubt Larsa wants to be yours Florin, but don't be surprised if Teagan says no. You are just a legionnaire, or soon will be. You depend on fighting to earn a living and it is… well, the army isn't easy. Even if you survive the battles, the pension isn't much. It's a hard go."

"I know that," he breathed. "But I'm not a tradebeast, Aurora. I've never wanted to be anything but a fighter. Jonalin was always at my father's heels learning to be a blacksmith, while I clung to your father. I used to think he was the greatest of beasts striding off bravely to battle with that big axe of his. And even when he returned all cut up and bruised, I listened to the stories and was proud to call him my uncle; my mother said he was the bravest of the brave. I know it was tough for you guys sometimes, but-"

"Florin, Father had to borrow coin from your father many times to be able to feed me!" Aurora blushed. "And it was embarrassing for him to bring me around for meals when we didn't have anything left in the cottage to eat."

"You are family, Aurora," Florin said softly. "Our mothers were sisters. Families help each other out when things are rough."

"Rough!" Aurora laughed. "We have prime examples of how rough that can be, don't we?"

At that Florin pierced his lips and stared into the flowing waters. "So because I chose to stand for my country, I don't deserve to be happy? I don't deserve to have a love and marry?"

"I didn't say that," Aurora corrected herself. "It's just that it will be hard and Teagan knows it. He may not let his daughter go for such a life."

"He may not," Florin agreed and rose to his footpaws. "But I have to try. I know I will make Larsa happy and whatever I can't afford to give her in goods I will make up for it in love. This may not be one of those sparkly red rocks or clear white ones the noble ladies wear," he said holding up the hewn purple crystal again. "But it was bought with love and as long as there's love, we will be happy together."

"Well, if you're happy, I'm happy for you- for both of you," Aurora said with a warm smile. "At least you getting married may take the pressure off me for a little bit."

"Maybe," Florin chortled as she took aim again. "Who knows- maybe you'll meet your future husband at my wedding!"

"Ugh!" Aurora scoffed and released the string from her fingers. The bow twanged against the sudden loss of tension as the arrow whistled away from them and sunk itself deep in the bough. Whirling back at her cousin, Aurora rolled her eyes. "You sound like a silly old hogwife. Why do you all think that I need to get married and settle down?"

"Because you're seventeen seasons old and before long, you'll be considered an old maid!"

Giving an exaggerated gasp, Aurora strode over to him and flipped his cloak over his head. "Take that back, Florin! I am not an old maid!"

"Will not!" he called. "At least tell Uncle Luke what it is you want in male so he can look for it. You may want your independence now Aurora, but the day may come when you will be happy for a pair of strong paws to hold you up. One day you may want to be with someone and share a life together."

"Maybe one day," she mused. "But I'm not settling for any beast less than my heart's desire."

"And who might that be?"

"I don't know," Aurora laughed and started to walk back to the path leading to the village. "I haven't met him yet."

"Then how are we supposed to look for him?"

"We don't," she said plainly, taking the lead down the worn trail. "My heart will tell us when it knows him."

Florin shook his head. "And how is your heart supposed to tell us?"

"It will show us- when my shot goes for tripe!"

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**If you read it please review it! I'd love to know your thoughts on our newest characters...**


	21. Preparations

**So, a belated update on this story. Sorry, I'm been working on finishing up some other stories and kinda lost track of when I updated this one last. Ah well, you'll all live right? :P**

**Anyways, thanks to the reviewers- Thomas the Traveler, Blackish, Shadowed One 19, Hamlet and lilianofoceanna **(a new reviewer- Hello and thanks for the guest review!)**. You guys are the best. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 20- Preparations**

_Training with the Guard, meeting with the admiral- discuss the ship from Ormere docking half crewed with sickness, council meeting, and archery with the royal wards…_

Martin listed the day's agenda through his mind as he strode down the darken hallways towards the palace kitchens. The sun was just starting to lighten the Eutrusian sky; its light dripping languid tones of mauve and bluing white through the leaded windows and reflected against the crystal, gold and silver accents about the corridors. As he walked, the prince adjusted his sword belt and finished buttoning his shirt sleeves, while his thoughts continued with his schedule.

_… Induct my new page, stand with Father while he titles two nobles' sons, meet with Lord Conroy over my charities, send a Tern to Nilhand for progress reports on the palace construction, somehow find time to eat and make time for…_

"I want a platter of fresh fruits and breads with hazelnut spread sent to Nilhand's State Chambers for Lady Josephine this morning," Malina directed a kitchen servant as they walked across the prince's path in front of the doors leading to the Grand Gallery. "My pawmaids tell me it was a hard birthing for her yesterday- a good breakfast may help her regain some of her strength."

"Yes, Your Highness," the servant replied. "It was a hard birth for her to be true, but Lord Birchall was happy it was a male."

"Yes," she smiled wistfully for a moment. "I am told they are to call him Sorrel after the lord's grandsire. And speaking of Lord Birchall- his nephew, the young Lord Talanis, is due to arrive at Vasilis today. We must make him welcome. Perhaps you could arrange a miniature feast for him and the other wards for this evening? We can set them up in the solar of the southern wing; that would be large enough for them all to fit in."

"A feast, m'lady?" he stammered.

"Lord Talanis is _Baron _Falcor's son and heir," the princess pressed. "He will one day be an important figure in this kingdom and he should have a proper reception. It need not be anything too extravagant- just some fun for the other royal wards to help celebrate their newest friend."

"As you wish," the hedgehog nodded. "Do you have any other wishes for the day's meals?"

Martin leered as he listened to her rhyme off her expectations for the day from the shadows. Organizing the palace's meals was a small task Malina had recently taken over from the queen, but one she took as seriously. As carefree and adventurous as Malina was in her leisure time, she was dedicated to each of her duties- no matter how great or small.

"Oh and make sure Prince Martin's midday meal is one that can be left unspoiled for an _unreasonable_ amount of time," she directed. "Seasons know the king is running him ragged with duties and I hardly know when he has time to eat…"

"Don't worry about me midday," Martin piped up and stepped forward towards the startled kitchenpaw and the grinning princess. Malina's pawmaids curtsied quickly and backed away to give the two royals a respectable distance. "I'll grab something along my travels." Waving the kitchenpaw away from them, he added, "Good morning, Malina."

"Good morning, Martin," she replied sweetly and hummed quietly when he kissed her paw. "How did you manage to slip away without your pawbeasts?"

"I never need them first thing," he said and held up his arm to escort her into the Grand Gallery. "They don't need to watch me train every morning so I have them meet me once I'm done on the Tilt Grounds."

"That's not going to be long today." Pointing a bejewelled paw at the tall windows of the Gallery, Malina added, "Those clouds are bringing in nothing but rain."

"Rain never stopped a war, Malina," Martin chuckled and looked her up and down. Her peach gown was simple, but elegant and he loved the way silver bands of fabric studded with pearls decorated her brow before being weaved with streams apricot coloured organza into her braided headfur. Even at this hour of the day she already looked like a queen. "The Royal Guard are not afraid to get wet." At her exasperated look, he winked, "And training in the rain cuts down on the wash time afterwards."

She ignored he poor attempt at a jest. "Rain may not hinder you, but the lightning might." As if on cue, thunder rumbled outside the palace.

"Ah, I need to get out of here before Father comes down and starts fussing," Martin mused and turned to face her. "If he asks, you haven't seen me."

"Oh, like that will work," she smirked. "You may be able to hide from him, but he'll drive every other beast mad with his fretting until he knows where you are."

"That's fine," the prince laughed and Malina gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. "Alright, alright. You can tell him I'm… around."

"Oh, Martin!"

"I have to go oversee the sentinel change, Malina," he smiled and kissed her paw in farewell. "Have a wonderful day and I'll see you at dinner."

"Martin, you haven't had any breakfast!" she protested. "At least come to the kitchens and get something to eat…"

The latch to the courtyard clicked closed, giving the princess her answer.

* * *

"Well, ain't this just a damn fine morning, Donny!" Olan grumbled as he stood under the outcrop on the training ground. The thunder rumbled above them and lightning flashed across the sky. Pulling his cloak hood up higher on his head, the squirrel muttered, "Seasons, I hate this weather!"

"Aw, c'mon now Olan!" Loukin laughed from the center of the yard where he was putting two other otters through the motions with stave poles. "It's just good Eutrusian weather. Rain's coming straight down an' warm as y' like."

"It's cold, damp and bloody horrible," he grumbled and looked over at the Arms Master. "Donny- talk some sense into the crazy beast will ya?"

Thunder ripped the air above them in two, snapping with such force, every creature cringed back further in their shelters. "Loukin!" Syr Donovan yelled through the hammering rain. "You three take cover before you lose your rudders to a streak of light!"

"Alright, Don, don't get yar tail feathers all puffy," the otter smirked and waved the two cadets off to some shelter. "Ya know, my mom was hit by lightning they say an' she's a fine beast."

"Only because it 'ad to travel through tat fat arse of hers," Cental whispered out of the side of his mouth at the nearby guards. "Me father was standin' right by 'er when it 'appened- he said t' sky rumbled, she bent over and _flash_- 'er dress be cinged clean to 'er…"

"Finish that sentence an' I'll strap ya in full armour, haul ya t' the tallest hill and drive a metal stake inta t' ground ta hold ya in place," Loukin glared at the water vole. "My mom's a right beaut."

"Yeah, yeah, she's a ten," Olan guffawed and looked about the gathering fighters reporting for training. "Where's the prince- he needs to call off the drills for the day."

"His Highness, the prince!"

Every beast straightened up at the herald's announcement and stopped their idle chatter as Martin appeared at the lower entrance. The prince perused his surroundings for a moment before settling his sight on Syr Donovan and pulling his red cloak hood up over his ears, strode out across the sodden practice field towards the senior squirrel.

"Well, it's about flippin' time," Olan chortled and razed Martin as he came under the awning. "I was about to call you a soft-tail for skirting training due to weather."

"Hardly," Martin jested and tossed the lieutenant a scroll. "Though I'd love to know why Lord Birchall is thinking I'm some sort of messenger."

"Oh, Ol' Lordy-pants remembers that I'm part of his family after all," Olan scoffed as he read the quick note. "Josie had a lad, I see."

"Wait- you're related to Lord Birchall?" Cental snickered. Olan glared at him. "What are you doing in the Guard?"

"Because after the fifth son there isn't even sludge to scrape out of the barrel," Olan replied curtly. "And then when you're the third son of that fifth son, it's simply- fend for yourself."

Martin glanced around the gathering. "Where is Lieutenant Klein?"

"His lad has been ill with a fever," Lieutenant Condor explained. "Klein was here earlier, but we sent him home, Your Highness."

"Aye," Syr Donovan confirmed. "He looked worse than death- been sitting up with his son the last few nights so his wife can rest."

"Young Rayley's on the mend at least," Loukin added. "Now that he's fever has broken, that is. Don't you worry, sire. Klein'll be back first thing in the morning- you'll see."

_Hmm,_ Martin pondered for a moment before changing the subject. "How was the watch at the Eu, Loukin?"

"Quiet," the otter yawned, suddenly feeling sleep-deprived from his night watch. "No sign of the Eurians yet."

"Hellsgates," Martin grumbled under his breath. Sixteen days since his father sent a summons to Baron Ulran and still nothing. Not a reply or some much as a whisper to ensure they were coming. If the delay continued much longer, Martin would have no choice but to muster the Guard again and go collect the baron and his son to bring them to justice. Turning to Lieutenant Malax, the prince commanded, "Prepare our fastest scouts to make for Talanti Pass the moment the storm lets up. The hill crag will give them a generous view of the Eu to the east and they will be able to see any procession the Baron of Eurus is making."

"Yes, Highness."

The rain hammered down in sheets and the lightning lit the sky. "We aren't going to accomplish anything in this weather besides catch a cold," Martin sighed and looked at Donovan. "What do you think, Syr?"

"I don't really want to see a Guard get roasted if a bolt finds its way to a blade," the old squirrel replied. "Nor do I want to hear any sniffling or complaining come tomorrow."

"Then send them home, Donovan," Martin proclaimed with a flick of his wrist. "We'll all meet tomorrow."

The prince watched as the fighters dispersed back to their homes, talking lightly with his lieutenants about some of the new recruits and sentry schedule.

"I want one of you at the river landing at all hours," Martin ordered them when they turned to more serious conversations. "When Baron Ulran and Lord Ulrick decide to _grace_ us with their presence, I want them escorted under guard to the palace. Allow them their dignity, but make sure they are immediately taken before the king or myself- at whatever bell it may be."

"Yes, Highness."

"Are you sure about that, sire?" Olan sniggered. "Heard from some of the maid servants your nights have been busy of late."

Martin cleared his throat and fought the smirk trying to curl up his lips. "Uh-h, Syr Donovan, which way is it to Lieutenant Klein home? I want to let him know the change in the sentinel watch."

"I'll show ya t' way, Your Highness!" Loukin offered. "I gotta walk that way t' me own cottage."

* * *

"Hoist the main sail and trim the scrapper!" a young mouse called to the many ears of his imaginary crew. Climbing over the railing of his loft, he curled his arm around a joist and leaned out into the open space of the cottage main room. "Tie off that… _kauff,_ stay-_kauff_-sail, _kauff_."

"Rayley?" a voice whispered urgently from the kitchen where a kindly looking mousewife appeared with a steaming pot held in her paws. "Rayley!" she gasped and set the food on the table. "Rayley- you get back into bed this instant! You know you aren't supposed to be playing around."

"But Ma-" the mouselet whined. "I feel better this morning… _kauff_. I'm sick of sitting in bed. It's boring."

"Shh," his mother hushed him. "Quiet, Rayley- your father is sleeping."

"But-"

"No buts; back to bed." The youngster was not convinced by her attempt at reprimand. "Da would let me," he challenged her.

"Oh, Rayley- he would not," she rolled her eyes and wagged a paw at him when he started coughing again. "See- now back to bed with you, and _quietly."_

Rayley sighed and slipped under the railing. "Whatcha making for breaky, Ma?"

"I'll bring you up some porridge in a moment," she smiled at him. "I might have a slice of orange for you, if you get your tail back under those covers!"

"Can I sit here and eat it where I can see you?"

"No, Rayley…"

"Rayley, listen to your mother!" Klein shuffled out of their bedchamber and gave his wife an exhausted smile. "Feeling better is he, Rada?"

She sighed and gave him a nod. "We were trying not to wake you, Klein."

"I wasn't really asleep," he confessed. "I can't sleep with all this thunder."

"Da-" Rayley coughed and grinned down at his father. "Are you coming up to eat breakfast with me?"

"Let me talk to your mother for a moment and maybe," he breathed, rubbing his face with his paw. "Just get into bed, Rayley."

"But…"

_"Rayley."_ Unlike his mother's stern voice, the young mouse knew his father's meant business. "Okay, okay," the mouselet mumbled and walked his way behind the pulled back curtain to his cot. "I'm going," he rasped out.

The lieutenant exhaled loudly and slumped over to sit at the table. "It smells good, Rada."

"You need to rest or else you'll end up sick like your son," she chided him and laid out the bowls on the table. "Well, I suppose you should eat if your up- I'll get the bread."

Before the he could respond there was a knock at the door and Rada paused at the entrance to her kitchen. "Who would that be at this time in the morning?" she asked and Klein slowly pushed himself to up to his footpaws.

"I'll get it," he muttered and straightened his clothes. "Go on, Rada- it's probably just some beast wondering how Rayley is."

"In this weather?" she said sceptically, but retreated into the side room. A knock sounded again- this time with more force behind it. Klein scowled at impatience of the creature outside. Most of their friends would either call out or simply poke their head in. Again a fisted paw meant the door.

"Alright, alright- hold your tail, I'm coming," Klein called as he walked towards the door adjusting his tunic. Notching his belt loosely at his waist, the lieutenant grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. "Bloody early in the morning to banging on… er, um… _Your Highness?"_

"Good morning, lieutenant," the prince smiled and blew water droplets off the end of his nose. "Or rather, _wet_ morning."

Klein cocked his head to the side and twisted it upwards to view the deluge. "Er, yes, sire. Will you come in?"

"Please!" Martin laughed and entered the cottage once Klein threw the door wide, bowing slightly when the prince walked past him. Martin glanced around the home for a moment, taking in the neat and tidy interior and high banked fire. Seeing a carefully laid out breakfast table, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Klein- I've interrupted your morning meal."

"Erm, not really, sire," Klein replied and fumbled with his appearance. "Rada- my wife- she was just laying it out."

"Well, I won't keep you from breaking your fast," the prince proclaimed and unclipped his drenched cloak. "Go ahead and eat. I'll just dry off by the fire for a bit."

"Of course, Your Highness," Klein said quickly, eyeing the royal mouse warily as he strode to the hearth and pulled up a stool. Klein scratched his head and glanced over at the entrance to the kitchen, before nervously scuffing his footpaw. "Er, sire. May I ask why you're here?"

Martin looked over his shoulder momentarily and then tossed his cape over a bar on the drying rack. "There's been some changes to the sentry duties and I thought I would let you know what they were- seeing as you were at the Tilt this morning."

"I see," Klein responded. "As much as I appreciate you coming to tell me this personally, Highness, isn't this something a herald could have taken care of for you?"

"Yes, but I had other things I wished to discuss with you."

"Other things?" Klein questioned as Rada came into the main room with a plate of fresh bread and butter.

"Klein, who was it at the…" she begun to say, then stopped when Martin stood up from his stool and placed his right paw over his heart to give her a bow of his head. "Good morning, ma'am," he said politely. Rada gaped at the mouse's rich clothes and though he was not wearing his coronet, the prince's signet ring and dark copper fur colouring gave away his identity.

"Your Highness!" she gulped and dipped down into a quick curtsy, nearly upsetting the plate in her paws. "I- I… um, good morning to you as well, Your Highness," she stumbled out, her eyes surveying the floor as she reddened a shade for every grain of dirt she missed from her hasty sweep the night before.

"Your wife?" Martin smiled at Klein.

"Yes, sire," the lieutenant said and walked over to rise her up. "Your Highness, may I introduce my wife, Rada. Rada- His Highness, Prince Martin Etifedd."

"Prince _who?"_ exclaimed a voice from above them and the three mice turned to see Rayley poking his head out of the railing with a look juvenile disbelief and unbounded excitement. "Da- the Red Prince is… is… is_ here?"_

"Rayley, I told you to keep that tail of yours in bed!" Klein said sharply.

The mouselet huffed. "But… but-"

"Rayley…"

"Rayley?" Martin smirked and looked up at the loft. "Not _thee_ Rayley I've been hearing about from Admiral Daelahn; the Rayley who is bound and determined to be my Admiral of the Royal Fleet one day?"

A smile erupted on the young mouse's face. "He knows who I am! Da, Ma, did you hear?" he said excitedly and pointed at Martin. "He knows my name! He knows I'm going to be an admiral… _Kauff."_

"Rayley, don't point," Klein implored him. "And called His Highness by his proper addresses, please…"

"What-" Rayley said scrunching up his nose in thought. "-Martin?"

Rada gasped, but it could not be heard over Martin's booming laughter.

"Rayley!" Klein gaped and the mouselet just giggled at his father's tone.

"It's alright, lieutenant." Martin patted the flustered father's shoulder before stepping in front of them. "I fear the fault was mine not using the proper addresses myself. Will you forgive my lack of manners, Master Rayley?"

"Certainly, mister- er, um, what do I call you?" Rayley asked and walked curiously over to the ladder.

"At first you address me as Your Highness," Martin said. "And then after that it is simply sire or highness."

"Sounds kinda stuffy."

Klein clapped his paws to his face and pulled his features down in stress. "Rada, get him down here and feed him. Maybe food will shut him up!"

"Rayley- time for breakfast, dear," the kindly mousewife implored him. Waving her paw to the table, she added, "Your oatmeal is getting cold."

"But Da said I'm not allowed off bed…"

"Rayley, by the Seasons, get down here, lad!" Klein huffed. Once he saw the mouse obey and start climbing down the rungs of the ladder, the lieutenant turned to the prince. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. He hasn't been around many nobles, let alone royalty and well, he's been sick and- wait, Rayley's had a fever. You shouldn't been here, sire. You might catch his illness…"

"I'll be fine, Klein," Martin guffawed as the mouselet bounced over to the table and tried to sit down, but Rada caught him by the paw and nodding to the prince while whispering in his ear.

"Bow?" Rayley queried. "Really? But we already said hello…" Rada didn't say anymore, but simply gave her son a little shove towards the two males.

"Er, 'morning, Your Highness," he said and flopped his upper body forward.

"And you, Master Rayley," Martin returned. "May the Seasons give you a fair day."

The mouselet processed the greeting for a moment then hastily nodded and bounded back to his seat so he could dive into his bowl of porridge.

"Won't you join us, sire?" Rayley said, surprising both his parents and gaining an interested glance from Martin. "My Ma makes the best oatmeal- all spiced and full o' dried cranberries. You can sit beside me if you like."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Martin replied and sniffed the air. "Though I must say, it does smell delicious, Rada."

The mousewife blushed at the compliment. "Thank-you, sire. There is lots, if you would like to join us."

"Please sit, sire," Klein said while he pulled out his chair at the head of the table for the prince. To his surprise, the prince shook his head and took a seat beside Rayley.

"Oh no, Klein. You're the king of this castle. I'm just a guest."

"This is a cottage, not a castle!" Rayley chuckled as Martin mockingly fought him for his slice of bread.

"A beast's home is his castle," Martin winked at the young mouselet and ruffled his ears. Accepting a steaming bowl of porridge from Rada, Martin took a large mouthful of the hearty food.

"This is wonderful, Rada," Martin praised her and watched some of the anxiety drop from her shoulders. "Never tasted better!"

She beamed at the acknowledgment and sighed in relief at her husband's approving smile. "Tea, sire?"

"Please," Martin nodded and accepted the poured cup.

"You drink tea?" Rayley gawked as Martin took a sip and held in a cough. "But us common beasts drink tea!"

"I think every creature does," Martin tittered. "My mother drinks it before and after every meal."

"That's a lot of tea."

"Yes!" Martin took another sip of the warm liquid. "But nothing is better on a damp day such as this!"

"Tell me about it," the young mouse grumbled and slouched in his seat. "I'll be stuck in bed all day."

The three adults shared a laugh and once Rayley was done his meal, Klein sent him off to his loft to play with his toy ships.

"He is determined to be a sailor one day," the lieutenant explained as Rayley climbed the ladder with practiced ease. "He has a whole fleet of wooden ships up there in a basin, you know."

"I don't doubt it," Martin smiled and leaned back in his chair. "When he's ten seasons old- apply for his entrance into the Mariner's Commission. Address it to me, and I will make sure he's placed under the Admiral as a landed ensign." Rada stiffened and gave Klein a worried look. "Don't worry, ma'am," Martin assured her. "He won't get taken to sea until his twelfth season, but he can learn the ropes before he sets sail."

Klein bowed his head to the prince. "Thank-you, sire. In another three seasons, I'll give you his application."

"You may need to send it to me." Martin straightened up and rested his forearms on the table, cupping his paws and lightly tapping them on the tabletop. He watched as Klein and Rada exchanged an awkward glance.

"Send it to you?" Klein started cautiously. "Are you going somewhere, Your Highness?"

"No, but you may be." Worry instantly flashed across the lieutenant's tired face and his breathing visibly increased. "Sire, if I've done anything to offend you…"

"Klein, I can assure you, you have done nothing to offend me."

"Then-"

"I wish you promote you," Martin smiled at the lieutenant.

"Promote me?" Klein said. "Your Highness, I'm a lieutenant. I'm as high as I can go in…"

"In the Guard," Martin continued for him and took another drink from his teacup. "What I am promoting you to is past that."

Klein looked at Rada; by her expression, she was as puzzled as he was. "I'm afraid I'm not following, sire."

"How did you like Nilhand, Klein?" Martin asked pointedly and stretched against the back of his chair once more, resting his elbows to his sides and making a steeple with his forefingers to rest against his lips.

The mouse's response was guarded. "I liked it well enough."

"And the northerners?" the prince pressed. "You seemed to have a good deal of respect for beasts that rebelled against their country."

It didn't feel like a trap, but Klein could sense there was something behind their conversation the royal mouse had not divulged yet. With a deep sigh, he replied. "I have respect for those brave enough to stand up for what is right. Courage is short in this world sometimes and under the right leader it can become something greater than itself." Martin smiled and Klein continued. "The Nilhanders were wrong to rebel against the crown, yes, but they did so in the absence of a true leader. That has been rectified now with all your new plans and reforms for the state."

"So you approve of the palace construction and the stewardship I mentioned while we were in the north?"

"I do," Klein affirmed. "Nilhand needs a new source of pride and a governor not content to sit on a cushion sipping wine because it's their birthright."

A moment of tense silence followed. "Klein, I wish for you to be my Steward of Nilhand," Martin said bluntly. "I want you to be the first Steward of the North."

"_Me?_ A stew… steward?" Klein gasped out. Looking into the astonished face of Rada, he shook his head. "Sire, I'm… but that's a position for a noble-"

"-A position for a loyal Eutrusian," Martin interrupted, holding up his paw for silence. "You need not be of noble birth to know how to manage creatures and land.

"Which I know you can do," Martin stated. "I looked into your old entrance application for the Royal Guard. You were a fieldpaw; a common labourer who no doubt harvested fields in all four of Eutrusia's states. You did not have a designated hometown, which means you were part of a seasonal workers' band. You had no family name, no lineage denoted, nor could you write your own name, as is clear by the 'x' you made as your mark." Klein grimaced at the reminder of his past and Rada reached over to give her husband's paw a reassuring squeeze.

"So, what of it?" Klein retorted with bite to his tone.

"I was impressed," Martin stated. "You entered into the Guard at the age of seven and straight into the position of a page to the current captain- my grandfather. Positions such as that are normally reserved for noble sons. You must have done something to impress him, and Syr Donovan as it was he who pledged to your sponsorship when he was a lieutenant."

"I asked for help," Klein said quietly. "My father was an escaped oarslave. We worked for food and when my mother took ill, we didn't have any money to pay a healer for her. We were in Wesrus for the fall harvest and I walked to Arvendon Castle to get aid. It was the late Captain Martin who helped me and paid for a healer to save my mother. My Fa-" Klein stopped and blinked slowly. "My father asked, no begged, the captain to take me with him so I wouldn't have the life he did. He- I… yes, I entered the Guard at an early age and I've worked hard to make something of myself."

"And you have, lieutenant," Martin said firmly. "Your dedication, honour and fortitude have won you this opportunity. You understand our politics and know the value of honest work. All of your experiences, qualities and talents are just what I am looking for as the crown's representative in Nilhand."

Klein stared at the prince in expectation of a bolt of laughter followed by the disclosure of a hidden jest; though the longer the lieutenant stared at Martin, the more assured he was that this was not a joke and in fact a true offer of office. Turning his gaze towards his wife, he could see the excited twinkle to her eye and the way she held her paws over her mouth to cover her smile.

"This is quite the offer, sire," Klein said in the silence, trying to bide his time while his mind reeled with thoughts. "I'm deeply honoured you would consider me."

"It is I who am honoured to have such a beast in my service," Martin said. "You will continue to hold an honorary position as a Lieutenant in the Guard, but your primary title will be henceforth the stewardship. Also, you will have to move to the northern states and take up residence at Caerhayes Palace."

"I don't know what to say. I hardly think that I'm qualified, but if you insist…"

"I do," Martin said sternly. "As does the king and his council.

"So, what say you, Klein?" Martin asked, rapping his knuckles off the table to assert his need for a decision. "Will you be Nilhand's steward?"

Klein exhaled loudly and stopped trying to hide the smile inching onto his features. Not trusting his voice, he looked at the prince and gave a firm nod.

"Right," Martin laughed and rose from his chair. Klein and Rada clambered to their footpaws with him and Martin extended his paw forward to the ascending mouse to seal the deal. "I will have the scribes draft up the papers and we shall meet in four days for your swearing in."

"Yes, sire," Klein said graciously shaking the royal mouse's paw and then bowing away. Putting an arm around Rada's shoulders, Klein grinned broadly at the soft peal of laughter that escaped her lips.

"Well, _Steward_ Klein I must bid you a fair day," Martin said plainly and took his red cloak from the drying rack to settle over his shoulders once again. "And my thanks to you, _Lady_ Rada, for the wonderful meal. Oh, and Master Rayley?"

"Yes!" he called and popped his head between the rungs of the railing again.

"You'd better get packing those ships of yours-"

"Your Highness! Klein!" A shout came from outside the cottage and Olan swung the door open without so much as a knock. "News from the Eu," he said grimly. "The lords of Eurus just docked their barge."

* * *

**So a good chunk of information there, but hopefully it wasn't overkill. Now that the Eurians are in the capital, we'll see a lot more action. ;)**


	22. In the Open

**I know- it's been a while since I updated this. I was focusing on finishing The Journey Home, so now that tome is complete and on the shelf I can concentrate on this story now. In other words- expect regular updates here. ;)**

**Special thanks to the reviewers- Blackish, Shadowed One 19, Thomas the Traveler, krikanalo. **

* * *

**Chapter 21- In the Open**

Rain pummelled against the windows of the palace as Martin strode through the corridors with a contingent of servants and advisors trotting in his wake. Flashes of lightning illuminated their forms against the walls from the leaded windows.

"Your Highness, the Guard have unloaded Baron Ulran and Lord Ulrick from their skiff and Lieutenants Malax and Evrol are accompanying them to the palace as we speak," Lord Conroy informed him hurriedly. Martin frowned and continued to make adjustments to his dry clothing as he progressed towards his parents' chambers.

Conroy cleared his throat nervously in the lengthy silence that followed and watched Martin twist a golden vambrace into place at his wrist. "It also appears the Baroness Dalila is amongst the company, sire."

Martin hesitated his stride for the barest of moments. "My lady aunt accompanied them?"

"Yes, Highness. She is walking with them from the…"

"The summons was for only the baron and his son!" Martin snapped before checking his tone. He was on edge with the forthcoming confrontation and could only guess what his father would be like. Having his aunt there would only make things harder on the king as he would not only be staring down a close friend, but also his own sister.

"See the baroness is made comfortable in Eurus' State Apartments," the prince ordered. "She is to be treated with all the grace due to her station. Is that understood?"

"Of course, sire."

Entering into the royal presence chamber, Martin nodded to his father's own advisors hovering off to the side waiting for the king to emerge from his private rooms. They each bowed to the prince and Lord Naveen stepped forward from the group. Martin waved his own servants back with a flick of his wrist and waited for the aging otter to make his way to him.

"Your Highness," Naveen said and bowed his head. "A grievous task ahead of us, I fear."

"Perhaps," Martin mused. "Has the king given any orders yet?"

Naveen shook his head. "Only that you should join him in his private study upon your arrival, sire."

"Thank-you," Martin said and allowed the otter to back away two paces before turning to the entryway of the monarchs' private chambers and nodded for the footbeasts to open the doors.

"Lord Conroy-" Martin said over his shoulder as he stepped inside. "When the Eurians arrive at the palace, see Baron Ulran and his son are seen into the Grand Gallery immediately. My lord father and I will be there presently."

The door clicked shut; the prince exhaled loudly and walked down the receiving hall towards the opening to the chamber. Martin paused under the archway and looked about the vacant room.

"Father?"

"Over here, Martin," a tired voice called from the side room. A moment later, Matthias appeared holding a large open tome in his paws. "Come here, son," he added and motioned with his head for Martin to join him in the study.

"Father, we don't have time for lessons right now," Martin huffed and stomped into the lavish room. "The Eurians have arrived and…"

"Yes, Martin- I know," Matthias interrupted him and held up his paw. "You think you are the only one informed about the goings-on of the city?"

"No, Father," Martin relented, "but we must meet with them and get this business over with."

"Son, this is not a battle charge," his father instructed him and sat at his desk, laying the tome down on the polished wood in his descent. "Things like this must be approached carefully."

"Carefully?" Martin gaped. "How _carefully _can you approach-"

"Do not forget you are accusing powerful nobles of crimes, Martin," Matthias reminded him. "And on the words of commoners- you must allow the accused to trip up on their own and catch them in a lie."

Martin dipped his head in acknowledgment and waited quietly for the king to say more. Matthias simply sighed and rubbed him face with his paw in an obvious show of stress. He hated dealing with lords who thought themselves over mighty. It was a trait he did not inherit from his father, Matteus. The old king relished in bullying creatures to his bidding; he had an uncanny talent of finding a creature at their weakest point and bending them to his rule.

Martin sat in the chair opposite his father and brushed the fabric of his grey tunic flat across his left shoulder. "What are you going to say to them?" he pressed and took his coronet off his head to rest it on his knee. He hated wearing it, but knew he must for an occasion such as this.

"I am going to ask them their side of the story," Matthias said plainly. "I will address Ulran directly for sending Ulrick, but Ulrick must answer to the charges laid at his footpaws."

"Talk," Martin grumbled and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Martin, talk," Matthias stressed and put on his crown. "Remember, son there are two sides to every story. You must hear both before you act. They may surprise you."

"Or tell you exactly what you already know," Martin countered. "They took sixteen days to get here, Father. You and I both know it only takes three by barge if the rowers are pushed and take shifts so they move through the night. You don't think they were trying to cover their tracks?"

"Oh, most likely paying off servants and hushing up guards," Matthias chuckled at Martin's straightforwardness. "They would have dispersed the most involved ones and told them to lay low for a while."

Martin uttered a low growl.

"Enough of that, Martin," Matthias asserted and rose to his footpaws. "You must control your anger, son. I know you feel strongly against these crimes because you dealt with it directly, but do yourself and me a favour by recalling Baron Ulran is whom I consider to be my closest friend _and_ your own aunt's husband…"

"Aunt Lila's here, Father," Martin muttered and pushed himself up from his chair to tail the king into the main chamber. "She came with Ulran."

"Why would she… Ah, Dalila!" Matthias grumbled and lifted his crown from the velvet-lined box on his sideboard to place it on his head.

"I've ordered her to be escorted to Eurus' apartments," Martin reassured him. "She won't be present for the questioning."

Matthias gave him a curt nod. "Does your mother know she's here?"

"I do not know. When word came to me of their arrival I returned to the palace immediately to seek you out.

"Have you decreed their charges yet?" Martin inquired, focusing the subject and slipping his own coronet on his head.

"Ulran is guilty in the corruption of a royal command," Matthias stated. "His crime is punishable by law in the form of fines and reduction of power, but it is Ulrick who murdered a beast under the guise of royal approval." The two royal mice walked down the receiving hall towards the doorway. "And murder is a capital offence, let alone its misrepresentation of-" Matthias paused before the exit and grasped Martin's forearm to halt his advance. "This may not be a pleasant meeting, Martin. Emotions will rise, but you _must_ remember your place."

"And what is my place for this particular meeting?" Martin asked. "Am I a prince or a Captain?"

"You are the Red Prince," Matthias chuckled at him, using Martin's fabled name. "You will support me in my decisions as a son and prince should, but you will be the one to reinforce our strength as is your station as my Captain of the Guard."

"That didn't answer the question, Father!" Martin chortled as Matthias led him out of the chamber.

Matthias narrowed his eyes and rapped his paw on the painted oak for the footbeasts to open the doors. "Hold your tongue and if they think they can challenge us, we both will escort them out to the green."

* * *

Chains clanked and chinked around the pulley wheel as the portcullis of Vasilis' eastern entrance was hoisted up by the gatebeasts to allow the arriving party entrance to the palace. The king and the prince were waiting under a heavy canvas canopy to shield them from the elements at the top of the stairs leading to the Grand Gallery when the Eurians appeared in the courtyard. Baron Ulran and his company were surrounded first by his own personal retinue and then encircled by the Royal Guard. Martin immediately picked out the noble mouse, frowning at his limping gait and the frail looking creature slumped against his arm in a pitiful attempt to stay upright.

"Shall we arrest them and place them under guard in the dungeon, Your Majesty?" Kennard asked and gripped his spear haft in anticipation.

Matthias turned his head slightly to observe the bodyguard and cleared his throat. "No," he said shortly. "It is the duty of the Captain of the Royal Guard to collect accused nobility."

At the king's nod, Martin slipped out from under the covering and descended the stairs to greet the gathering. His red cloak whipped about his body in the wind and the thunder rumbled overhead, the deluge of rain soaking him clean to the fur. Behind him, two bannerbeasts carrying Eutrusia's royal standard trotted in the prince's shadow.

"My lord Baron Ulran, Baroness Dalila," the prince proclaimed over the heavy showers as he approached. Ulran looked up from his charge and bowed his head in respect while Dalila tried to bob a wobbly curtsy, but her husband pulled her back to her footpaws.

"Don't, Dalila," Ulran warned her. "You're too weak." A spear point pressed against the baron's right cheek.

"Show your respect, traitor," Lieutenant Malax growled out and immediately an Eurian guard drew his sword on the experienced warbeast. "I wouldn't suggest that, lad. Not if you want to draw another breath."

"I wouldn't doubt his ability, Malax," Ulran replied coldly, turning his head so the blade of the pole weapon indented his skin. "I trained these creatures myself and they are skilled swordsbeasts." He paused for a moment to look the hedgehog up and down. "And remember you only still have that let arm of yours because I was at your side in the Battle of Wesrus…"

"Stand down, lieutenant!" Martin warned and pushed the spear haft away from the noble mouse. Scowling at the hedgehog, Martin added dangerously, "You point a weapon in the presence of Baroness Dalila again and you will lose more by my wrath than the baron's."

"Apologies, Your Highness," Malax muttered and bowed away a step. Martin gave the Royal Guards a stern look and waved them all back a step.

"Baron Ulran," Martin addressed him coldly. "I ask you order your personal bodyguards to put up their weapons and remain at ease."

A haughty laugh sounded from the back of the company. Martin raised his chin to look over the heads and shoulders of the Eurians to view a heavy set mouse chuckling to himself.

"Is there something you find amusing, syr?" Martin inquired, narrowing his eyes and trying to put a name to the face mocking him.

"Nothing, Your Highness," he laughed and waved his paw. "Just that the rumours of you are true."

"Ulrick!" Ulran snapped and glared at his son. Turning back to the prince, he added a hasty introduction. "My son, Lord Ulrick of Ruarden Manor, sire."

Martin gave the barest of nods and fought the urge sneer at the beast. "And what rumours would that be, my lord?"

"I do not repeat idle gossip, my liege," Ulrick replied snidely and smirked when Martin glowered at him. "I mean, Your Highness."

"Your Highness," Dalila said faintly and looked up at her nephew from beneath her cloak hood. "Martin- I must retire to my chambers…"

"Of course, Aunt Dalila," Martin said quickly. Gulping down his astonishment at her ailing appearance he waved her pawmaids forward. "Take the baroness to her chambers at once." Ulran took a step to guide his wife towards their apartments, but the prince stepped forward to halt him. "Not so fast, my lord baron," the prince commanded, squaring his shoulders in preparation of the arrest. "By order of His Majesty, King Matthias of Eutrusia, I, Prince Martin Etifedd, Captain of the Royal Guard, hereby bring you, Baron Ulran Neefray of Eurus, and your son, Lord Ulrick Neefray of Ruarden Manor, under the custody of the Royal Guard on charges of-"

"No!" Dalila gasped and flashed her eyes to her nephew. "Martin- no, you cannot, you…"

"It's alright, Lila," Ulran mumbled and kissed her paw as the Royal Guards came forward to escort the mice. "We talked about this; you knew this would happen once we got here."

Twisting around to Martin, Ulran whispered. "Your Highness, I must speak to your father in private."

"I'm afraid you are past that privilege, Your Grace," Martin replied and inhaled deeply to strengthen his resolve. "You and Lord Ulrick will be tried by a council of your peers… immediately."

"Prince Martin, please," Ulran pleaded and shifted his weight off his injured leg. "It is something of grave importance- you must be warned…"

"Against what?" Martin pressed and reached for his aunt, gathering her in his arms and shielding her from the elements with his body. "Your disregard for royal command?" Then looking over the baron's shoulder to Ulrick, he derided, "Or perhaps it is to warn us about your son's _heinous_ actions. Either way, Baron Ulran, your warnings come too late."

"Your Highness-"

"Save your words for the court, Your Grace."

"Martin, please," Dalila breathed. "Martin, he is your uncle- please listen to him… there is danger in Eurus…"

"Yes, there is," Martin scoffed and gently handed her off to her servants before turning to his Guards. "Take the accused into the Grand Gallery for the king."

* * *

The two nobles stood before the dais in the Grand Gallery; all around them select chancellors and high ranking nobles murmured about them as the king sat before the court. To his left, Valina was poised in her throne beside him, her face flat and expressionless, while Martin stood at his father's right, his left paw resting on his sword hilt while the right he had hooked into his belt. The prince's blue eyes were hard as frozen ice- their gaze shifting back and forth between the two nobles.

"Ulran we have been over this already!" Matthias snapped and rubbed his face in frustration. "You are charged with corruption of a royal command- how do you find yourself?"

"Your Majesty, if you would only let me explain," Ulran pleaded and shook his head in his own vexation. "There are things you need to know that not the whole court needs-"

"You are talking in circles," Matthias rallied and hammered his paw down on the armrest of the throne. "Answer the question!"

"Yes!" the baron exclaimed. "I did not go north to Nilhand myself- I sent my son in my stead." More whispers fluttered about the present creatures. "But I had my reasons- if you would only listen…"

"Reasons?" the king snorted, tilting against the back of his throne. "Well, let's hear them, Ulran."

The mouse looked from side to side. "Perhaps somewhere a little more private, Majesty."

Lightning streaked the sky outside the windows behind the dais, causing Martin to briefly glance behind him at the rainwater running in bands down the glass. As focused as he was on the task at paw, he was anxious that Malina was not safely behind the walls of the palace. In her absence, he and his father had been informed the princess went to receive the young Lord Talanis by the docks. Although she had taken guards with her, Malina should have been back by then and her lack of presence was making the prince uneasy. At the sound of his father's voice, Martin's attention returned to the beasts before him.

"Whatever reasons they may be, you can say in front of your peers, my lord baron."

Ulran opened his mouth to speak and then stopped himself, tapping his finger to his lips as if banishing a natural response and coming up with another. "I am simply trying to teach my son the ways and responsibilities of the baronage, sire."

"I don't care if your son doesn't know how to tie his tunic," Matthias growled back, holding on to his temper by the barest thread. "When I charge you with a mission to act on my behalf, it is your sorry hide I want to go and deal with it, not your trumped-out whelp!"

Ulran only nodded quietly.

"I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you, Baron Ulran," Matthias stated with clear hurt in his tone. "I, who trusted you when no other beast would in the uprising of Eurus, placed my faith and love in you. We have seen each other through good times and bad… We are like brothers… I even allowed you to have the paw of my very own sister! And this is how you honour my trust? Toss around my order like a pawmaid's wish and give it to your son to botch? A simple inquiry turned murder, turned rebellion?

"Thousands of lives could have been wasted because of this and the only reason you can give me is you are instructing your son?" The king paused for a moment to let his words carry weight before proceeding. "I should have your title for this, Ulran. Unfortunately, that will not undo what has been done. Always thinking like a Neefray- always your kin think to their own aspirations and comforts…"

"Dalila is dying, Matthias!" Ulran shouted, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Lifting his eyes to glare at his friend, he added, "I was about to depart for Nilhand when she took a turn for the worse. They did not know how long she would have, so I sent Ulrick in my stead and stayed by her side." The Gallery buzzed again with hushed words at the baron's informal address of the king and his confessed information. Holding his paws wide and flapping them to his sides in defeat, Ulran sighed. "What I did was rash, but not in contempt. Please Matth-, please, Your Majesty, hear me out on this…"

"What do you mean my- Baroness Dalila is dying," Matthias choked out and Valina stiffened in her chair.

Ulran took four steps forward to the bottom of the dais stair and replied in a low voice. "She has been struggling with her health for the past few seasons, Matthias. The healers only recently diagnosed her as having some sort of wasting sickness."

"Wasting sickness?" It was the queen's voice that gasped beneath her breath. "And yet you let her travel here?"

"She wouldn't listen to me and stay behind in Lysium," Ulran said plainly. Staring the king in the eye, he uttered, "Why do you think it took us so long to answer your summons? We had to row slow and recess for long periods in between travel days."

Matthias shook his head and struggled to hold his composure. "And this is why you sent, Ulrick? To be by Dalila's side in case she passed to the Dark Forest."

"Yes," Ulran said, breathing a sigh of relief that finally a creature was listening to him. "I never dreamed this would have-"

"You never dreamed?" the king snipped. "Never dreamed that your son would be so bold as to commit murder while on a mission from the king and declare it royal decree?"

The word murder made Ulran's head snap up in remembrance of the danger he had imprisoned in Calsley Castle. "Your Majesty," he hastened, "Prince Martin, I must talk to you in private about an urgent matter- please it-"

"After we are done here," Matthias asserted and motioned behind his friend to where Ulrick was standing at ease between two Royal Guards. "First we must discuss the offenses charged to you son."

"But, sire you must-"

"I must _nothing,"_ the king roared and pushed himself up from his throne. "Between the pair of you, disturbance scorched through the north of my kingdom… an innocent maiden was killed-"

"They were only common beasts," Ulrick piped up from his position. Immediately, all eyes went to the heavy set mouse that stood smugly with his paws folded across his chest. "They can be made examples of."

_"They?"_ Matthias questioned and looked to his right at Martin. "There were more than just the squirrelmaid?"

"A few peasants," Ulrick waved off. "Nothing of consequence."

"They are still Eutrusians," Martin growled and took a dangerous step towards Ulrick. "Who are you to play the Seasons with their lives?"

"Wait, Martin," Matthias said quickly and held up a paw to stay his action. "Ulrick, are you admitting you killed the northerners?"

Ulran looked backwards at his son and shook his head in warning. Ulrick just smiled at him.

"Well, you weren't going to do anything about it," Ulrick said pointedly. "They weren't going to give up the location of the mine. I killed those beasts to illustrate the power of your crown. I did it a service…"

_"A service?"_ Matthias bellowed and began to descend the dais before Valina rose from her throne to hold his upper arm.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Ulrick nodded. "They say there is weakness in the crown. Your own son chose to fight without a weapon when called to war. There is talk your line is faltering…"

"Pick your ground Ulrick and we'll see who falters," Martin said coldly, jumping from the dais and striding over in challenge. "Draw your weapon and we'll see who is weaker."

"Martin, stand down," Matthias said quickly, turning his attention back to Ulran. "You knew he killed those creatures without decree or authority?"

Ulran just sighed and stared at his son. Ulrick was always too rash; he didn't think, he just did. Ulran had hoped going on a crown mission would have taught his son some sort of restraint and use for tact, but his efforts were in vain. Ulrick had learned nothing, and more importantly, Ulran was not sure how much longer he could protect his son.

"Your Majesty, there is something else much more dangerous than Ulrick in Eutrusia right now-"

Matthias opened his mouth to respond when the doors to the western chambers were flung upon and Malina was announced to the gathering.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Malina said after performing a sweeping curtsy. "Lord Talanis' barge was overdue-" The princess stopped her excuses and gave Matthias a confused look when she noticed Martin standing off the dais a few paces away from a thickly built mouse. Valina made a gesture for Malina to join her on the platform, when the heavy set creature moved into her way. Malina looked at the stranger with apprehension and resisted the urge to shiver. She did not like the cold look in his eyes or his position between herself and her family.

"So this is the Princess Malina," Ulrick mused and looked her up and down. "This is my betrothed."

* * *

In the woods east of the Aurelian city walls, the form of a mousemaid dragged herself across the sodden forest floor. Her body was completely covered by a dark traveling cloak- the only part exposed was a single lock of silvery-white headfur dangling from the opening of the hood.

"Must get away," she gasped and pulled herself along by her scraped elbows, her mutilated legs leaving two furrows in the dirt behind her. "Must get away…"

Breaths of hot air wheezed behind her and the maiden's eyes went wide with terror. A loud sob exploded from her throat. "Please- don't. I c-can't… I don't want to hurt anymore!"

Out of the shadows a black cloaked figured limped towards her.

"Please, Dracul," she begged, ceasing her movements and hiding her face in her arms. "Just let me die!"

"You wanted the Fates knowledge," the creature rasped out, dropping painfully to a knee and retrieving his dirk from the folds of his cloak. Wrenching her left arm away from her body, the beast pressed the edge against her skin and smiled as she screeched in pain. "Fates betold the sights beheld."

As the maiden's blood flowed from her wound the cloaked beast closed its eyes and watched the mists and shadows swirl around his vision. As always he saw the banners, the battle, the mouse with the same red eyes… but he needed more. More sight, more blood. Raising his dirk aloft, he stabbed down into the back of the mousemaid and felt her twitch against the blade impaled in her spine. He didn't dare open his eyes to see if she was dead. He didn't dare miss the vision if he had one.

Blood bubbled about his claws and the hilt of his dirk. "Dracul gives blood, oh Fa-" the vermin jerked and twisted to the side.

A loud clap echoed in his ears the sound of a gasping breath. Darkness… darkness… shadows, eerie green light. A mouse slipped up from the circular pool of water into the rocky cavern. A mouse with red eyes.

"No!" Dracul gasped and clambered backwards. No woodlander had ever entered the Gates. No woodlander had ever… not the red eyes. The red eyes could not enter there. Never could he allow it. He must stop it before he reached them- before the ratlords could be in danger.

Snarling in anger the creature, trotted forward in its awkward gait west towards the edge of the forest, leaving it's kill behind it. The mousemaid had used herself well to trick the guard into opening the prison door; even more so that she had been able to kill the vole and unlock Dracul's cell as well. She had snuck them out of the castle and showed him the direction of where he could find the red eyes. He had used her blood for his sight, keeping him strong and not weakened by bloodletting. Now her purpose was served and she was no longer needed; he could leave her behind for the maggots to feast on.

Coming to the edge of the forest line, the creature hissed and reared back against the shadow of a pine tree. Peering around the trunk, he saw the red and gold standard fluttering above the city gates. The sword and scroll.

The rain finally soaked the worsted cloak through and the hood slide off the creature's scarred head to reveal its menacing eyes. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating Palace Vasilis jetting up high on the sea cliff. The black pine marten licked its lips and leered at the structure.

That's where it would find him. That's where it would find the red eyes.

* * *

**This chapter was actually challenging for me to portray the characters right, so I'd love some comments on their actions/reactions. I was aiming for a lot of family dynamics here, but I hope that I didn't jumble them up too much. Please let me know what you think!**

**IF YOU READ IT, PLEASE REVIEW IT!**


	23. Rising Tides

**Let's get right into it, shall we?**

**Special thanks to the reviewers- Shadowed One 19, Thomas the Traveler and Blackish. An _extra special thanks_ to Jade Tealeaf who helped me fine tune all the intricate aspects of this chapter. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 22- Rising Tides**

"So this is the Princess Malina," Ulrick mused and looked her up and down. "This is my betrothed."

Malina started at Ulrick's declaration and let her eyes grow wide in brief astonishment. She did not recognize him at all from court and although his face was comely enough, crass and incongruous behaviour made him anything but handsome.

"Be… what?" the princess stammered and blinked her eyes furiously as she tried to comprehend the information sprung on her. Betrothal had been the last thing on her mind when she entered the Gallery to be with her family for the hearing; a hearing involving dire charges against two of Eutrusia's premier nobles. She had been preparing herself to hear Matthias give a death sentence, not a complete stranger to approach her and announce the two of them affianced. "Who are you, my lord?"

"I am Lord Ulrick Neefray of Ruarden Manor, Your Highness," Ulrick declared. "Your future husband."

"Future hu-" she gaped and flashed her eyes up to her family on the dais, settling on Matthias. _"My future husband?"_

"My father did not lie to me," Ulrick grinned and cocked his eyebrows upwards in recognition. "You are a beauty," and he took another step towards the surprised maiden.

"Lord Ulrick- halt!" Martin ordered, but the mouse ignored the prince's statement.

"Ulrick, that's enough!" Ulran called and tried to go forward, getting only a stride towards his son before Lieutenant Malax hindered his advance by blocking his path. "Ulrick, leave the princess alone!" Still the mouse did not heed the calls.

That was enough for Martin. Snapping his claws, the prince shouted at the guards standing behind the accused nobles, "Guards! Restrain him!"

Loukin and Kennard immediately strode forward and clasped their paws on the lord's shoulders, holding Ulrick from going any closer to the princess. Glaring at Martin, the lord seethed, "Is it now illegal look upon my property?"

"The princess Malina is not your property," Martin sneered and curled his nose up in distaste. Gripping his sword hilt and scabbard, the prince proclaimed. "She will _never_ be yours."

"That is not what the king decided," Ulrick replied in an even tone, completely undisturbed at Martin's growing tension or the grasp of the guards on his shoulders. "The king and my lord father have already signed the papers."

"I can undo that joining as quickly as I made it, Ulrick," Matthias said coldly.

"The ink is dry, Your Majesty," Ulrick responded and smiled slyly at the maiden before him. "She's mine."

"I am not _property_, as you call it, to be bought and sold, my lord," Malina defended herself, causing a hum of whispers around the court. "Lest of all the chattel of a disgraced creature."

He laughed at her. "Disgraced? Ah, Your Highness, that depends on the view."

"Silence!" Martin roared and moved between them, shielding Malina behind him. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, Ulrick, or I will remove it."

Ulrick sneered at the prince. Martin was taller than he and perhaps quicker with his blade, but Ulrick was broader, stronger, his attacks would be more forceful, his strikes more painful.

_Aye,_ the lord thought, _it would make an interesting match._

"Remove it?" Ulrick challenged. "And dishonour your blade with the blood of an accused _felon_ by cutting out my tongue?"

"Not at all," Martin replied. "I'll rip it out with my bare paws if you ever so much as look at Princess Malina again."

Ulrick tilted his head to the side. "I can still see her, Your Highness," he taunted.

"Ulrick," his father said sternly from behind the lieutenant hedgehog. "Stop while you're ahead."

"Impudent scum," Martin snarled and pulled his blade a paw width from its sheath. "You dare challenge me?" Malina laid a gentle paw on his sword arm to halt any further action, as Loukin and Kennard pulled Ulrick back towards Ulran. Her brow furrowed at the feel of his muscles hardening beneath her touch and the visible pulse to his jawline where he was grinding his teeth.

"Martin?" she whispered to him and drew a short intake of breath when he turned sharply to her. She had never seen him look so furious before.

"Let's get you up to the dais where I can keep you safe," the prince stated and thrust his sword back down into the scabbard once more. Instead of holding out his arm for Malina, Martin took her paw in his and tugged her forward, ignoring the inquisitive looks from the others at their informal touch. Malina did not protest and gathered her skirts in her free paw to trot alongside Martin's long strides to the king and queen.

"Just stay behind me," Martin said quietly to her at the bottom of the platform's steps. "I won't let him near you."

"They are just a desperate's words," Malina put in, trying to ease Martin's wrath before it became too strong. "I'm not in danger, Martin."

"I know you're not," he affirmed. "But Ulrick will be if he dares to slight you again."

"Intimate conversations are scandalous when they are with another's betrothed," Ulrick proclaimed. "Your Majesty, I believe the agreement was for an unsullied maiden…"

Martin spun around to face the arrogant lord; pulling his sword from his scabbard in a single motion, the metal ringing through the tense air of the hall. At Martin's movement, the Royal Guards stepped into a ready stance, their spears lowered in a unified clamor of stomping footpaws and knocking steel as they awaited orders.

"You dare insult the princess' honour?" he glowered and took a menacing step forward. "What did I tell you about your tongue, Ulrick- do you really hold such little value in your speech?"

"Malina," the queen called, beckoning the princess up the stairs to her and away from the danger. Quickly, she made the climb and two guards stepped in front of the two royal females.

"Martin, stand down!" Matthias commanded and descended two stairs of the dais. "Ulran- check your son. He insulted my family just there."

"Ulrick, keep quiet," Ulran spat and craned his head to the right to view his son. "Stop acting as though you own the world-"

"Ah, but I-"

"You're creature isn't here, Ulrick," Ulran snapped, wheeling on his son to glare him into submission. "Put all of it behind you- _now."_

"Creature?" Martin questioned. "What creature?"

Ulran took a shuddering breath before turning back to the dais. "It's what I need to speak to you in private about, Your Highness." Looking around the Grand Gallery at the nobles, he reiterated. "Please-"

"Speak here or not at all, Baron Ulran," Matthias ruled and crossed his paws over his chest. "You have already told me my sister is dying- what other ill news could you possibly bring that is worse than that?"

"I would tell you in private-"

"You will tell me here," the king commanded. "And you will tell me now."

"Ulrick and Ulyssa have found some sort of vermin seer," Ulran relented, shifting his weight off his injured leg at the remembrance of his attacker. He paused before saying more. Looking about the room, he saw too many of the nobles were listening eagerly- too many were leaning forward straining to hear what he had to say.

"Well?" Matthias pressed and tipped his right paw at his friend. "What kind of vermin seer?"

"Some sort of... I'm not sure what it was," Ulran confessed. "It was deformed, mutilated really. Perhaps it was a fox or a weasel at one point..."

"And this atrocity is enough to stir up this kind of trouble?" the king scoffed. "We've seen your son clearly has no judgement, Ulran, but has he run mad as well?"

"Ulrick is not mad, Your Majesty," Ulran defended his son weakly. _Though this would be a hell of a lot easier if he were..._

"So then tell me why I should care about what some locked away vermin muttering nonsense has on the chaos your son caused my kingdom?"

"It said things," Ulran said plainly. "It told Ulyssa and Ulrick things."

"What things?"

Ulran looked pleadingly from Martin to Matthias and back to the prince once more. They wouldn't believe him even if he told them the truth. More and more the vermin's curse circulated through his mind. _Those you love will not listen…_

He could see the hurt in Matthias' eyes; the pain he'd put there by telling him his sister was fading away. Mentally, he berated himself for not informing Matthias sooner of Dalila's condition, but she had made him promise to keep it silent. Her whole life she had been poked and prodded by healers and she did not wish to spend the rest of her days being a broken thing to be fixed again. They both knew if Matthias caught wind of her sickness, he would order her to been seen by any beast fool enough to think they could cure her. For love of his wife, Ulran had agreed to the secret, taking her into his arms and saying her there was nothing to divulge; that she was going to get better and that was that. He wasn't going to let her go. Ever.

"Baron Ulran," Martin voiced loudly and flicked his sword blade to catch the mouse's attention. Ulran started out of his daydream at the flash of metal and settled his sight on the prince. "Your king is waiting for your reply."

"I don't know exactly what was said," Ulran confessed and turned back to Ulrick. "Only it was enough to fill their heads with folly."

"Ah!" Matthias let out a frustrated grumble. "I demand to know what it said-"

"Where is the creature?" Martin interrupted, duty levelling his head and cooling his blood. "Ulran, where did you last see this creature?" Scowling at Ulrick, the prince added, "When did you last converse with it, Ulrick?"

"The creature and my sister, Lady Ulyssa of Craggen Keep, are both held in cells within Calsley Castle," Ulran said loud enough for the entire gathering to hear. "They stay there awaiting the king's judgement."

"And Syr Petyr and their son, Master Penlar?" Matthias questioned. "Where are they while their wife and mother rot in your dungeon?"

"They are at home in Craggen Keep, sire," Ulran proclaimed. "Ulyssa has been at her apartments in Lysium this past season. Petyr and her are-" he dwelled for a moment to think of the right word. "-distanced, Your Majesty."

"Fates' Fire," Matthias swore under his breath and shook his head. Was there no end to the trouble? "Lady Ulyssa and this seer will be brought to justice, but first we must deal with the charges before us," he decreed, bringing the court back to purpose once more. "Baron Ulran, as defensible as your reasons may be, they still do not account for the action of events they caused.

"You took it upon yourself to warp my orders without consent or so much as a mention to me you were doing so. For the love of the Seasons, even your report was deceitful in that your chose to refrain from informing me that it was not you, but Ulrick who travelled north. Had things stayed in a positive light, I may have excused the neglect; but as it is, I cannot ignore the events your decision spurred into action."

Ulran bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"And you, Lord Ulrick," Matthias addressed. "You, my lord, are up against much darker allegations: Murder of an innocent, disturbance of the king's peace, _killing_ while acting as an envoy which is against royal law- all of which led to the brutal slaying of Syr Ettore and pushed Nilhand into open rebellion, endangering the lives of the Royal Guard and that of the Etifedd."

Malina watched from between the shoulders of the guards as the king announced the charges. The Baron of Eurus kept his head low, respectfully accepting the Matthias' accusations, while Ulrick stretched up taller and held himself in an aura of self-regarded importance. Had they not looked alike, she would have sworn they were not related as their mannerism were as different as winter to summer. Where Ulran showed respect, Ulrick showed challenge. Even as Matthias finished his speech, the baron bowed low to his friend and yet his son barely bent at the hip. Who was Ulrick to think he need not show his sovereign proper reverence? Who was he to think him so high above his company?

Ulrick stretched upright again, locking his eyes on Malina and huffing his expression into a confident smirk. The princess shivered at his stare and turned her head slightly. There was something about his eyes she didn't trust and his smile was unnerving. It was like when he looked at her, he looked right through her, not seeing who she was, only what she was.

"You will both be confined to your State Apartments-" Matthias asserted, holding up his left paw to silence the immediate protest from the present lords and chancellors. "-for this evening until you hear your sentences on the morrow. As it is, you are both not attainted _yet_ and are due the luxuries your titles command, though know your privileges are removed. You will be under guard and no beast will carry messages of any kind to you, nor will you be allowed visitors. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," both nobles answered at once.

"Lord Naveen," the king said sharply and the elderly otter bustled forward from the fray and bowed before the dais.

"Your Majesty."

"Have my personal healers attend the Baroness Dalila immediately," he ordered. "I want a report on her condition within the next bell. And Prince Martin?" Martin turned slightly and looked up over his shoulder at his father. "Get these two creatures out of my sight. I can't stand to look at them any longer today."

"Lieutenant Malax," Martin called. "Take a score of Royal Guards and escort the Baron of Eurus and the Lord of Ruarden to their chambers. Set up a sentry at every exit."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The royal family stayed until Ulran and Ulrick were guided out of the Gallery, before Matthias adjourned the hearing council until the morning's sentencing meeting and waved his family to follow him to their apartments.

Martin waited until they were out of hearing distance for the other lords before striding to the head of their column to confront the king.

"You should have ended it, Father," Martin growled. "You should have had it over with today."

"Not now, Martin," Matthias said sternly and continued to walk at a fast pace. "I must think on this."

"There's nothing to think about!" the prince responded firmly. "At least not with Ulrick- 'Gates, he even _insulted _Malina, and announced them-"

"Enough, Martin!" Matthias snipped and shot Martin a hard glare. "Think with your head, son. Ulrick is up to something. We need to think of what."

Entering into the royal presence chamber, the king discharged all their servants so the family could converse alone.

Before anybeast could speak, Malina interjected, "I'm betrothed? I'm betrothed to… to Ulrick?"

"Yes," Matthias sighed and sat down at the table before the northern hearth. "Ever since you and Martin ran into the corsairs on the beach. Why do you think your tutors have been focusing your studies on Eurus?"

"When were you going to tell me?" she asked, a hint of betrayal in her voice. "Father, when were you going to tell me you were g-giving me away?"

"Malina, I'm not giving you away," Matthias grumbled. "It's marriage, not a discard of rotten wool."

"But you would be sending me away," she said softly. "I would have to leave…"

"… leave Vasilis and take up residence at Ruarden, yes," the king snorted and then rubbed his face in frustration. "Malina, I am sorry you had to hear of the news this way- it was not how your mother or I intended you to find out, but you are a princess of marital age. You had to know your betrothal would be coming up; this should not be a shock to you."

"Yes, but…" she contested and looked at Martin where he stood off to the side, staring at her with a blank expression. _Ulrick's not who I thought… who I hoped to marry…_

At her silence, Martin spoke up. "Father, you can't be seriously still considering this match. You cannot expect Malina to marry… _that!"_

"I did," Matthias exhaled. "But tomorrow's sentencing will be the deciding factor when it comes to that ruling."

"What do you mean?" Martin demanded. "You can't possibly assume-"

"If we, the lords and council, decide Ulrick is to be put to death, than this conversation is null and void," the king voiced strongly. "If he is saved from the axebeast, by some miracle, then an alliance with him is more imperative then ever- for the sake of your own hide."

"My hide does not need a marriage to hide behind," Martin countered.

"No, but your kingdom might!" Matthias rallied. "Ulrick will be Baron of Eurus once Ulran passes to the Dark Forest and then you will have another Neron on your paws with private army and enough gold to pay them. Eurus rebelled once already when denied a stake in the royal house and who is to say they won't do it again?

"A marriage between Malina and Ulrick will give them enough inclusion to remain loyal to you, yet because of Malina's unique situation in our family, none of their children could contest you for the crown. Do you not see the advantages?"

"So, I'm a pawn," Malina muttered and Valina put a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulders. "I'm nothing but a keystone in a peace bridge." Despite herself she looked up at Martin. _Please do something,_ her eyes pleaded to him.

"Father, you have to break the betrothal," Martin said holding his arms wide and looking the king straight in the eyes. "Please, Father."

"Martin," Matthias sighed remembering how Martin and Malina played about the beach together, danced together, attended charities together; always together. Maybe it was more than a passing attraction between them. Perhaps his son could not control his feelings for her like he had assured him he was trying to. "Martin, focus on the nobles' sentencing and let me worry about Malina."

"Malina, are you all right?" Valina said quietly as she felt the maid lean against her.

"A sudden head pain," Malina mumbled and held her head with her left paw. Glancing at Martin she felt her breath catch in her throat as his expression hardened with concern at her pale features. "Perhaps, I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"Go to your chambers and rest," the queen said gently and looked the rain still beating on the leaded windows from the storm. "You were standing on those docks in the dampness for two bells waiting for Talanis' barge to row in. The last thing we need is for you to catch a fever."

"Yes, Mother," she said dutifully and looked back at Matthias. "Will you excuse me, Father?"

"Of course, Malina," he nodded. "Repose the rest of the day if you wish. We will see you at the evening meal-"

There was a loud knock and at Matthias call, the footbeast entered. "Beggin' your pardon, Your Majesties, Your Highnesses; but the chancellors and lords of council are waiting to speak with you on other matters of state, my king."

"A king's work is never done," Matthias mumbled, rising from his chair and outstretching his paw to Valina. "Will you join me, my queen? Between the two of us, we should be able get through it all that much faster."

"Of course, my lord," Valina smiled. Giving Malina's paw a reassuring squeeze she took Matthias' arm and the two royals exited the chamber. Once they were through the double doors, the servants of the prince and princess tried to slip in, but Martin waved them off.

"Leave us for a moment," he asserted and quickly they obeyed, each with a curtsy or a bow.

"Shall I escort you to your rooms, Malina?" Martin asked softly and moved to stand in front of her. "You need to rest."

"So do you." Malina reached up and brushed flat a worried furrow in his brow. "Martin, you look exhausted."

"Strained, yes," he corrected her. "But I suppose that comes when dealing with traitorous nobles." Exhaling loudly, he twisted around and slumped down into the armchair behind him. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Can I help?"

Martin beheld her sincerely. "Malina, I… no, Malina. Once Father and I are done with those snivelling Eurians, then I will be myself again." Taking a deep breath he thought, _once I know you're mine forever, I will relax._

"You aren't being fair, Martin," Malina said sternly. "Baron Ulran is Aunt Dalila's husband- Father's close friend. He taught me how to dance a Eurian Wheel… he-" she trailed off for a moment to collect herself. "He's not a bad beast, Martin and you know it."

"I never said he was, Malina," Martin agreed and took off his coronet to casually hook it onto the arm of the chair. "But he did go against Father's wishes- the order of the king and he must be punished. Ulrick-" the prince snorted in disgust. "Ulrick is a different matter altogether."

"And that's what has you worried?" she broached and took a step before him. "I thought you and Father have proclaimed him a traitor…"

"Yes, but do you not see the ramifications of his potential sentence?"

"I understand under Eutrusian law, murderers and traitors pay for their crimes with their lives." Her speech was clear and strong.

"Malina- you don't understand," Martin grumbled and rose from the chair. Pacing to the hearth and then back to the table the king sat at, Martin placed his paws wide on the polished surface to lean into his stare of her. "To you, life is carefree and easy. You go about your duties with a smile and laugh at jests made only for your pleasure. You have no idea the pressure of ruling a kingdom- the pressure of _learning_ to rule a kingdom."

"No, I'm not learning to be a king," she argued. "And yes, you have graver responsibilities than I, Martin, but you do not need to belittle me!"

"I'm not trying to belittle you, Malina. I only meant to illustrate the point that you will never have to make this kind of decision and you should be thankful for it. I was the beast directly involved with this matter from the start and the one to put forth the charges. Tomorrow morning, Father and the council will discuss what _should_ be done with Ulrick, but ultimately the decision rests with me. I will be the creature to tip the scales and... Great Seasons, at least when Father makes this kind of ruling he has Mother to lean on for support! What do I have- this cloak? This sword? This coronet?"

"You can lean on me, Martin," Malina said softly. "I will help you in any way I can, but I can't do anything if you wouldn't let me." At his silence, she pressed, "How will you rule tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure," he said truthfully. "This is my first dealing with rebellious nobles and I am constantly second guessing my own thoughts because I am worried they will not be the best decisions for the realm!" As he spoke, Martin's tone hardened from unsure to anger.

"Why would you question your reasoning, Martin?" Malina countered. "You've always had sound judgement- why would you doubt yourself now of all time?"

"Because all I want to do is drag that eel of a mouse onto the scaffold and swing the blade myself!" Martin roared and swatted a silver chalice onto the floor. "My heart is telling me to just rid Eutrusia of him and future problems he is bound to cause _me_ once I succeed Father to the crown and Ulrick takes the baronial collar from Ulran. But then my mind is holding me back-" Martin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before continuing. "If I press for his head and Father and the council rules in favour of it, Ulran will lose his only son, his only child. The Neefray line will die out and then it will be forever written I killed off the last descendant of the very family who aided ours to safety."

"And Ulrick would forever be known as a traitor unworthy to carry his family's name."

"Perhaps," Martin relented. "Yet I still will feel as though I have spat at his forebeasts generosity."

"That was centuries ago, Martin," Malina soothed and watched him huff at her response and twist away to pace before the fire once more. "You cannot help how Ulrick has turned out no more than his dead ancestors."

Her words of comfort landed on deaf ears. "The Neefray brothers were sailors who owned the very ship Marcena's family boarded to cross the sea to our country. Without them, our line would have surely died out from plague with the rest of the creatures. We owe them our very lives…"

"Your ancestors gave them a baronage that made them wealthy beyond measure," Malina snapped. "You owe them nothing- you owe Ulrick _nothing."_

"Strong words for a princess," Martin chuckled and turned to look at her again. "That's not like you to be so ruthless, Malina."

"I wouldn't call common sense _ruthless_, Martin," she said plainly and raised her chin slightly. "Ulrick is a threat to all my family- to Father, Mother, Aunt Dalila… and to- to you." She blushed slightly at his soft smile and gazed at her footpaws for her final sentence. "And I will always be protective of my family."

"So you will," Martin whispered and stepped forward to take her paws in his. "But be at ease, Malina- while I'm around, I will always keep our family safe." His breath caught in his throat when she turned her eyes up to him and the firelight sparkled in their soft green hue. Bringing her paws up to his chest, Martin cupped them over his heart. "All our family, Malina. Now… and in what I want to be our fu-"

There was a loud knock at the door, starting the two mice apart, and an otterwife popped her head in.

"Excuse me, Princess Malina," Maud's voice beckoned once Malina gestured for her to speak. "We should really get you to your chambers to rest, Your Highness."

"Yes, of course," Malina yielded, taking a step away from Martin and blushing when he continued to hold her paw; waiting until she looked back at him, Martin bent over and kissed her jewelled fingers.

"Pleasant rest, Malina," he said softly, reluctantly releasing her paw. "I will see you this evening." The princess swept him a low curtsy and glided gracefully to her pawmaid.

"You know, it's strange," Malina said, pausing at the door and looking back at the prince. "Eutrusia is a _kingship_, but everybeast always refers to the founder of the royal line by the female ancestor and not by the male."

"I suppose Marcena's courage outshone her husband in the eyes of our historians," Martin chortled. "Do you not agree?"

"Her tale is more exciting," Malina relented and swayed as if to leave before stopping herself again. "But I think it may prove a deeper point if viewed from a different angle."

"And what would that be?"

"Never underestimate the courage and strength of a female," Malina said strongly and gave Martin a knowing smile. "Our days are not always filled with ease and laughter, as you say it is- some days we deal with issues of just as dark and life-changing as you. Some days, we too have no choice but to be brave for those we love." Motioning for Maud to open the door wide for her, she called over her shoulder. "Get some sleep, Martin. You cannot make important decisions if your mind is overtired."

* * *

_Martin felt the sand under his footpaws as he ran across the beach towards the sounds of a Eutrusian horn and the calls of battle. He felt light in his strides, as if he were flying and not truly using them to create forward propulsion. Rounding the bend, he saw a mousemaid standing tall, looking out at the sea. Her simple dress whipped about her legs in the stiff breeze and she held a broken spear in one paw and a severed sword in the other. Hearing his approach, she turned and beckoned him to her, holding up her paw to stop him when he was but a few paces away. Martin stopped and looked into her eyes. They were the same shade as his._

_"I thought you'd come, Martin," she said quietly though her voice echoed through the humming air._

_"Why am I here?" Martin questioned and looked about his surroundings._

_"You are looking for answers," the maiden smiled. It was then Martin noticed the large scar that ran the length of her face and folded into a large dimple at her cheek. Seeing him notice it, she tapped her cheek with her paw and chuckled. "You should have seen the rat when I was done with him."_

_"You fought a rat?" Martin said, appalled that a maiden would have to fight vermin._

_"For the lives of my family, yes," the maiden nodded and clenched her paws on her broken weapons. "We will always keep our families safe." _

_"That's my mother's ring," Martin said boldly pointing at the emerald ring on the mousemaid's right paw. "She never takes it off."_

_"Yes. She wears it to remind her of our founding. It gives her courage to be strong."_

_"Our founding?"_

_"Remember your history, Martin," the mousemaid said. "The courage of one can save an empire."_

_"Marcena?" Martin breathed as he remembered his lessons. "You are from the dawning days. You… your family crossed the Western Sea to Eutrusia. You saved our family."_

_"Yes. I fought off the searats while they broke the ships apart and my family was able to sail away."_

_"You died for them," Martin said quietly. "You freely gave your life."_

_"Yes," Marcena affirmed. "By my sacrifice gained the sympathy of the Seasons. They thought courage such as mine should be preserved and though they could not save me from my fate, they could save the rest of my line. It was then they blessed my children with a gift so they would not have to endure the death I did. They gave you the gift that you could never be killed by a vermin blade."_

_Martin nodded. He had heard the story many times before._

_"You will have to sacrifice too, Martin," Marcena said. "You will have to give your life, not in death, but in another way."_

_"In what way?" Martin asked pointedly._

_"You will know," Marcena smiled at him. "You will need to act quickly. Decisively. Do not think with your mind. Your heart will tell you what is to be done. Through your sacrifice, they will be safe."_

Martin awoke with a thud as he hit the hard stone floor. Groaning and groggily rubbing his throbbing arm, Martin blinked his eyes in the dim light of his chamber. He must have fallen asleep in his chair. Collecting his thoughts, the prince tried to recall the particulars of his dream. They were so vivid, yet so distant in his mind. He only remembered one phrase clearly: _Through your sacrifice, they will be safe_.

But what did that mean?

The bells in the towers started tolling and the short horns sounded, alerting creatures to proceed to the Feasting Hall for the evening meal. Standing in front of the gilded mirror, Martin adjusted his tunic and placed his coronet on his head. He was a Prince of Eutrusia. The Etifedd of Eutrusia. The Captain of the Royal Guard. His very life was to keep creatures safe… but what would be his sacrifice?

* * *

**Please remember to REVIEW!**


	24. Tension

**Alright, sorry I haven't updated this story for over a week. Thing is, I've been travelling a lot lately and family is commandeering most of my spare time right now. Okay, that's not the true reason. The truth is, well... I showed a friend some of my works (which I never do) and they pretty much tore them apart so now I'm second guessing everything that I write. Even though I have this entire story mapped and the next five chapters written in full, it's pretty hard to get the fires stoked to muscle on, if you know what I mean. *Sigh* I'm sure I'll come around and gain my confidence back- just give me some time, but also I'm now becoming exceedingly interested in what others think of this story. Some comments, even constructive criticism, would be most welcome at this point and may make me get over this hump a little faster. So with that...**

**Special thanks to my reviewers! Thomas the Traveler, Shadowed One 19, Blackish and krikanalo. High fives to y'all!**

**To Thomas the Traveler: In response to your question from BTPW- At this point, Matthias engaged in combat three times- The Uprising of Eurus (Valina still pregnant with Martin), The Battle of Wesrus (Martin aged 12 seasons) and The Waves of Ormere (Martin aged 14 seasons). Hope that answers your question. :)**

**Now, on to the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 23- Tension **

"I dunno how Pops 'spects us t'gather firewood afta the rains last night," a young squirrel grumbled as he and his brothers pulled a rickety lumber cart off the dirt road and into the forest outside the Aurelius' city walls. "Everything's soak to the core- no beast'll be buying soggy pine from us."

The eldest, a lad no older than twelve seasons, motioned for them to stop and used his axe to roll a fallen birch over for inspection. "Don't matter, Russ. Just do what Pops says, a'right?"

"We's not gonna get no spankin' 'gain, right Kit?" the smaller of the three whined from his place in the wagon. He had been watching the sentries walk the tall stone ramparts in the morning light and the line of merchants forming at the eastern gate in preparation of entering the city for the daily market, before his brother's mention of his father brought him out of his daydreams. "Flynn no like getting' spankin's, no I's don't!"

"No, Flynn," Kit said firmly and lifted the squirrelet down onto the sun speckled ground. "We only got a swat 'cuz t'wood we brought back last time had beetles innit. Won't happen this time-" he patted the head of the axe thrust into his cord belt, "-I'll cut it open afore we load it up."

"'K," the youngster replied. "I's go find me sticks fer kin'lin'."

"Stay close this time, Flynn!" Russ ordered and dropped the pull handle on the cart. "I'm not traipsin' 'bout the woods lookin' fer ya again, got it?"

"He can't go far, Russ," Kit admonished his younger brother. "Leave 'im be."

"That's wha'cha said t'last time an' we spent o'er a bell lookin' fer his tail," Russ grumbled and went about searching for dry wood. "That's wha-"

"Shuddup Russ an' just look fer a hunk o' oak we can split…"

Flynn giggled to himself as he listened to his siblings bicker, gathering fallen twigs that he would later make into bundles for his father to sell as fire starter. Each stick he picked up, Flynn broke off an end, throwing down any that lack a distinct _snap._ Before long the squirrelet had wandered out of sight from his brothers, but he could still hear them in the distance.

"Flynn's gonna make a big bun'le o' wood fer Popsy," he assured himself. "I's gonna gets me a-extra cup o' milk wit supper t'night!"

Picking up a branch, the squirrelet tilted his head at the glimmer coming from underneath a sodden leaf. He knelt down, laying his armful of sticks aside and brushed the leaf aside. A polish purple gemstone twinkled back at him.

"Pret'y," Flynn whispered, picking up the jewel and rolling it in his grubby paws. "I's likes pret'y rocks!"

Standing up again, another sparkle caught his eye and another, and another. One by one the young one followed the path of gems, placing each one excitedly in his paws. By the sixth one, the squirrelet was laughing so hard, he did not hear his two brothers calling his name or breaking through the brush behind him.

"Flynn!" Kit shouted once he saw the youngster. "Seasons, Flynn- we were callin' ya- could ya not hear us?"

"I told he was gonna try an' run off 'gain," Russ grumbled and twisted his brother around by his shoulders. "Wha 'ave we told ya 'bout… hey. Flynn, wha'are those?"

"I's found pret'y rocks," he replied and held up the amethysts. "Onna ground, Russ… jis' layin' 'ere…"

"The Fates' Gates," Kit gasped and picked up one of the stones. "Russ, Flynn- these are like them jewel stones Master Mason sells inna market from the Seldor Mines. Look- see 'em sparkle?"

"Jis' one o' those'd feed us fer a good three seasons!" Russ exclaimed. "'N Flynn has eight o' 'em!"

"Ya found these onna ground, Flynn?" Kit pressed and looked around the forest floor. "All o' 'em?"

"Yep. Somma 'em under t' leaves." The youngster scooped down to brush away a clump of beech leaves, but paused at the feel of slickness to his paw. Holding his right one up before him, Flynn wiggled his claw tips together in the fluttering sunlight; deep red blood on his fingers.

"Kit! Russ!" he exclaimed and fell back onto his bottom. "Blud! Blud! T'trees 're bleedin'!"

"Trees donna bleed, Flynn," Russ snipped. "It's just o' bitta… Fates…"

"Let's git outta here!" Kit yelled, looking around at the flecks of blood and shallow furrows in dirt around them. "Com'on. This way!"

The three young squirrels thundered towards Aurelius, their chore long forgotten in their fright as they crashed through the undergrowth. Their footpaws stomped into soft forest floor, squishing soaked leaves up between their footclaws and causing them to slip and slide into each other.

"Com'on, Flynn," Kit urged, pushing Russ ahead of him and slowing for Flynn to recover from a ricochet off his brother's body. "We gots t'git back t' home. Back to Pops- he'll know whatta do- Whoa!" he yelped as he pitched forward over an object.

Yowling in pain at sickening crunch his snout made when it hit the ground, Kit blinked at the stars clouding his vision and groaned as blood instantly pouring out of his nose like a square's fountain. He clasped his paws around his nose, tears blinding him to the source of his stumble as he wriggled onto his knees.

"Kit!" Russ shouted and jumped back to his elder brother. "Kit- ya a'ight?"

"Me nose!" he snuffled out. "Me nose is broke!" Trying to rise up, he gasped and crumpled onto his bottom to look at his blackening ankle. "Me paw is broke, too."

"Ah! A deadbeast!" Flynn screeched and dove behind Russ' back. "Kit caught 'is paw onna deadbeast!"

Kit flipped himself over and screamed at the sight of a crumpled mousemaid lying disfigured in the mud. Her lifeless eyes stared holes in bottom of his heart, blackened blood crusting her pristine fur and tattered gown.

"Ya gots t'git outta 'ere!" he roared at his siblings and shoved Russ towards Flynn. "Go- gits Pops… go… _git!"_

"Ba Kit-"

"I says git!" he barked and threw a rock at them. "I can't run… jis' go git help!"

The two brothers looked to stay for a moment and then Russ snatched Flynn's paw, causing him to drop his precious stones before speeding away to Aurelius. Kit remained seated, panic driving deep gulps of air into his lungs and fear of being alone crawling its cold claws over his fur. Hearing the tree branches creak and crack in the wind, the injured youngster spooked, twisting around to face the dead maiden, yelping in fright of her and scurrying away to a large oak tree.

He pressed his back against the trunk, fighting sobs heaving his chest and whimpering his distress to the shadows of the forest.

"She is dead," he muttered to himself. "She can't 'urt me." A branch cracked again, the wind whistled through the leaves. Kit closed his eyes.

"She is dead," he reiterated. "She can't 'urt me." A rustle of brush and the breeze was harsher, closer, hotter. Air was pulled from around him; it's cool, fresh tones replaced by noxious smells of cinder, rot and blood. Kit squeezed his eyes tighter.

"She is dead," he blathered out, his lips trembling and spittle dribbling down his cheek, mixing with the blood from his nose. "She can't 'urt me." The sound of steel against steel hissed into his ears and the youngster drooped his tufts back flat against his head, his tail slinking against his leg.

"She is dead," he gasped and held his mouth agape. "She can't 'urt m…"

The wind wheezed, the branches hissed and the squirrel garbled out his last breaths in blood.

* * *

"Ah! Lieutenant _Time!"_ Gustaff called from his perch of stacked crates where he was attracting customers to their merchant stand in Aurelius' great market square. Flinging the sample cloth of gold over his shoulder like a cape, he chuckled. "'Bout time I saw ya come t'see me wares!"

"Is there anything left?" the mouse laughed and reached up to shake the foreign vendor's paw. Motioning to the boxes and barrels of half-empty bolts of material, he added, "Business in Eutrusia does you well, I see."

"Aye, it does, matey" he nodded and leapt down onto the ground. "Made our damn prices too low- I underestimated your country's wealth, Klein; or your taste in fine fabrics." Looking around Klein at a modestly dressed mousemaid holding the paw of a sturdy mouselet, Gustaff smiled. "Out for a family stroll, matey?"

"Sort of," Klein smirked and waved Rada and Rayley to him. "My wife and son need some new clothes. Fancy ones."

"Fancy ones, y'say?" Gustaff mused and scratched his chin, noting the other cloth merchants giving sideways looks and perking ears in interest. "A weddin' or something?"

"No, no. For every day; and perhaps something extra grand for a feast…"

"Lieutenant!" a haughty otterwife called from her set-up. "I have the finest grosgrain in Seldor- arguably the whole of the Eutru-"

"Aye, but my brocades are inlaid with thread spun from the finest weavers in Lysium," affirmed a portly hedgehog. Holding out a length of fabric to show its quality he proclaimed, "The Baroness of Eurus herself bought a bolt of this last autumn- it is more than fine enough for a lieutenant's wife…"

"Mistress Rada 'as always bought 'er linen from me!"

"Feel this- the texture melts under your claw tips-"

"-Damask… ye'll fine none like it in…"

"If it be a feast ya'll be attendin', then it'll be silk ya'll be wearing!"

Quickly, the three mice were set upon by Aurelius' finest fabric mercers, each of them sniffing out the scent of a merchant's dreams: New money. Rada pulled Rayley closer to her dress skirts while Klein tried to politely diffuse the situation, looking at the held up wares and easing them away one by one. Gustaff, however, did not have the lieutenant's patience.

"Git away- ya pack o' gulls!" the plump mouse snipped and shoved his way into the center of the fray. "The lieutenant came t'my stand first 'n if he 'n his wife don't like what I have, they certainly not goin' like any o' yar cotton or wool- now git!"

The flock of mercers dispersed slowly, each of them glaring at Gustaff in turn as they went. The plump mouse didn't seem threatened by their looks and in fact gave one of their rumps a playful kick when the beast didn't move fast enough, gaining a stifled giggle from Rayley.

"Sorry, 'bout that," he snorted and turned back to his customers. "'Tis little wonder why ya Eutrusians call this part o' the market t'ring o' fire! Huh, lives up t' its name more often than not, I'd say!"

"The reason I usually deal with the first cloth maiden," Rada confessed and pointed to the single dormouse standing at her meagre booth displaying nothing but the finest country linen at the mouth of the crescent. "Klein- I feel poorly not buying something from her- she always gave me a fair price…"

"We can get some yards when we leave if you like," the lieutenant assured her. "Rayley will still need some rough and tumble clothes in the north."

"In the _north_ ya say!" Gustaff interjected. "Blow me down, matey- ya leaving already? I jus' got 'ere!"

"Duty calls, my friend," Klein replied. "Which is why we need some, well, updates to our clothing."

Gustaff leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not goin' be wearin' that fancy uniform and cloak anymore, are ya?" Klein looked down at his navy uniform, its pewter buttons and silver trim. At his shoulders, heavy pewter pins baring the Eutrusian insignia of a crossed sword and scroll held his white lieutenants cloak to his body. With a sigh he brought his eyes up to the merchant and simply shook his head.

"Aha!" the mouse laughed and slapped his knee. "Turning lordship, are ya?" he joked and starting looking through bolts of satin.

"Da's goin' be a _steward,"_ Rayley blurted out excitedly. "'N Ma's goin' be a _lady."_

"Is that so, youngster?" the merchant mouse mused and tossed the plain satin aside and picked up a maroon and gold brocade. "And what'll you be then?"

Rayley puffed out his chest with pride. "I'm going to be an admiral; the Fleet Admiral of the Mariner's Commission of Eutrusia."

"One day, _maybe, _Rayley," Klein chortled and gave his son's shoulders a squeeze. "Well, Gustaff- can you get them kitted up?"

"I'll have yar wife looking finer than t' queen, Lieutenant- I mean- _m'lord!"_

"Oh, I don't think we need to get that extravagant," Rada blushed and wrung her paws apprehensively. "Just something plain and…"

"Nonsense, m'lady," Gustaff scoffed. "We'll make ya t'pearl of Eutrusia- just y'wait 'n see."

"Oh, please, don't call me _m'lady,"_ she blushed deeper. "I'm not a lady… yet. Please, just call me Rada."

Klein smiled as he watched Gustaff layering reams of silk, damask and sarcenet over her shoulders to match colours and patterns. He'd been too poor when they were married to give her a true wedding present, but made her a promise one day he would give her the world; and for Klein, this promotion was doing just that. It made him feel like the greatest creature in the kingdom, and though he made a lucrative pension now that he was a lieutenant, to see her being fitted with clothes fine enough for a noble lady rendered him silent with pride. Clearing his throat, Klein grinned at Rayley's reaction when he was quickly set upon by another of Gustaff's ilk and measured- the excitement etched on the mouselet's face was beyond price.

"D'ya wants the young lordling's clothes enforced at the edges and double stitched at the hem, m'lord?" the squirrel mercer asked, selecting a dark gray grosgrain and cream kersey from the pile. "I suppose you'll be wanting a few jerkins, some shirts, one or two vests…"

"Whatever you think," Klein proclaimed and handed Rada a purse of coins he'd received as an induction bonus for his new position. Gustaff carefully noted the bob of the mousewife's paw under the weight, mentally calculating the potential budget and rubbed his palms together. "Right. Well, it's nothing but lace and silk for you, m'Lady Rada and some o' that worsted with silver trimmings fer t'young Admiral Rayley!

"Come, come, m'lady! Further under the tent where we keep the finer wares- can't 'ave the sun spoiling their colours 'r dust cloudin' their brilliance!" Gustaff exclaimed and gestured her past the reams of linen with a bow. "Ya know, m'lady- the Queen o' Eutrusia herself graced our stand just t' other day- bought a nice green brocade with silver thread fer a new gown…"

Rada reluctantly followed the rambling foreigner under the overhang. As proud as she was for Klein to have ascended into the ranks of peerage she was unsure of this new world they were entering. They were being raised very high, very fast and she couldn't help the angst that bubbled inside her. Klein was a fieldpaw turned warbeast, she was an ale merchant's youngest daughter- who were they to climb into the ranks of nobility, minor as her husband said it would be.

"Klein- are you not coming?" she asked as he remained at the entrance of the overhang. "You will need some new tunics."

"Is suppose I will," he sighed and took a step under the awning. "I suppose I'll need some sort of-"

"-Mantle or two; possibly even a line of silk just to fart on when he gets bored."

Klein wheeled around to see Olan standing with a mocking grin on his face and two young guards standing behind him. Holding out his paw, the squirrel lieutenant added, "Congratulations, _Steward Klein."_

"Oh, steward yourself!" the mouse laughed shook his friend's paw, both of them pulling together and clapping a paw across the other's back. "How in the kingdom did you find out?"

"Ol' Donny just told us Lieuies," Olan simpered. "The prince told him before he went into the trial meetings and asked Donny to start putting together a list of candidates to replace your sorry arse."

"I'm sure you'll find one quickly."

The squirrel let out a snort. "That's what I said. Not like you did much."

The two laughed and the two trainees sniggered behind. Olan groaned in frustration and turned back to them. "Did I say you could laugh?" The guards gaped at him briefly before snapping to attention. "No, I didn't think so. Now, shut-up or I'll have your balls made into a bola!

"New recruits," he continued, focussing his attention on Klein once more. "I've grunted out more obedient pieces of tripe… ah- hello Rada. Nice t' see you."

"I'm charmed as ever, Olan," she drawled out with an unimpressed expression. "I don't know how Salfin does without you in your hours of absence each day." With that she shot Klein a look of disapproval and walked back towards Gustaff again.

"Already talking like a noble lady," he sniggered and gave Klein a swat on the shoulder. "Sarcasm is a true lady's gift- a regular maid would have just flat out told me where to put my tail."

"Rada, still a regular maid," Klein asserted. "She just can't be outwardly rude to a beast- even if she doesn't like them."

"Doesn't like them?" Olan clapped his paw over his heart. "And here I thought she loved me deep down."

"Only when you bring my tail back alive from battle," Klein said truthfully. "Other than that she thinks you're a no good lecher."

"Well, she's not _half_ wrong. I am a lecher, but I _am good."_

"What are you doing in the market, Olan?" Klein questioned, redirecting their banter and nodding to the two trainees still standing at attention.

"Training these two for street patrolling," he answered and raised his voice. "Keeping track of how many thieves and pick-pocketers they miss. If I hit ten, they're going to lose a claw when we get back to the barracks-" he paused. "-and I'm at eight already." Instantly, the two jumped into motion, bouncing into each other and then into their separate ways to peruse the crowd.

"I'm telling you, Klein- young lads don't have the initiative we had anymore," Olan reminisced. "They think it's all guts and glory, battles and victories. They forget we have responsibilities to uphold the peace in all of Eutrusia- not just the beasts getting war waged on. I mean really- who do they think keeps the peace around here- the Royal Prophets?"

"Will you listen to yourself?" Klein guffawed. "Initiative my ears- you had the least _initiative_ amongst our whole squadron…"

"Only in certain things."

"Right," Klein relented. "You always were first at the gates for street patrol… what was it you called it again? T.P.?"

_"T.T."_ Olan corrected him, his eyes shifting to witness the young guards progressing around the vendors. "Trailing Tail. Ah- the days of youth!"

Klein snickered and gestured about the market. "And here you are on another go around."

"Don't judge," the lieutenant snipped and cocked his head to the side at a group of young squirrelmaids admiring a ream of lace… and him out of the corner of their eyes. Giving a wink to make them giggle, he said, "If I'm not mistaken you met your significant piece of tail on a T.T. run, so you can't mock the system, eh?"

"I-" Klein started before a commotion rumbled through the creatures at the inlet to the market; beasts bunched around something while a few maids let out gasps and screams. Olan shouted for his two guards and trotted off to the crowd.

"Rada!" Klein yelled and slipped between two rolls of yellow fabric. "Rada- there's a disturbance in the square. Stay here with Rayley until I come back," he commanded her and turned to the merchant. "Gustaff, if-"

"Don't worry, matey," he said with a wink and opened his vest slightly to reveal the hilt of his dagger. "She 'n t' lad'll be safe."

Giving him a curt nod Klein strode out from under the awning, barking at beasts to make way and shouldering through the mass of creatures encircling a pair of frightened squirrel kits snivelling out incoherent sentences in common accents. Olan knelt in front of the oldest, holding him tightly by his elbows, while another guard wrapped an offered shawl around the youngest quaking shoulders.

"Stop chattering lad!" Olan ordered sternly. "What is it?"

"A dead mousemaid!" Russ cried. "Dead as-a stump, she is!"

"Where?"

"Inna forest! Me… me brot'er still t'ere!" Gasps and murmurs filled the air as Olan rose, giving orders to his subordinates. The two bolted off quickly; one towards Vasilis, the other to the east gate of the city walls where the squirrels would have come in from.

"Kit's 'urt!" Flynn sobbed and fell to his bottom on the cobbles. "Kit's 'urt, Flynn's lost 'is pret'y stones, 'n now Pops gonna be mad a' us fer bringin' no wood 'ome."

"Your father won't be mad at you, young one," Klein reassured him and looked at the blood and mud splattered on their footpaws. They must have been close to whatever, or whomever they came across. "Does any beast know their father?" he posed to the gawking creatures.

"Aye- I do," a water vole spoke up and moved to the inner ring of the circle. "That's Russ and Flynn- part of Darin and Joules' brood. He sends them into the woods to get kindling for his firewood sales."

"Kindling after a full day of rain?" Klein muttered to himself and shook his head at the ridiculous idea. Turning to the water vole, the lieutenant asked, "Do you know where their father is?" He nodded. "Bring him here immediately."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Never a dull moment," Olan sighed and looked down at the brothers again. "You said your brother was hurt- How is he hurt? Where did you leave him?"

"Kit broke 'is nose 'n ankle when he tripped o'er t' body," Russ shuddered. "He told us t'get help- couldna run ya see. We came inna market fer 'elp- will ya 'elp us?"

"Yes, lad, we will," Klein said softly and knelt down to take their shaking paws in his. "But why did you not alert the guards at the gates? Why run halfway across Aurelius to the market?"

"Dunno," Russ shrugged and swiped the back of his paw under his nose with a sniff. "Jis' wanted t'get far away from t' forest is all, I s'pose." Klein nodded. Panic skewed most creatures' judgement, but he hadn't heard the alarm raised- why had the guards not noticed two frightened youngsters splattered with blood?

"Did you recognize the mousemaid?" Olan pressed after he ordered the crowd to disperse. "Have you seen her around the city before?"

"Nope. She be a fancy maiden."

The two lieutenants just looked at each other. "What do you mean _fancy maiden?" _Olan drawled out. "Like she was pretty? What was she wearing, what did she look like?"

"I guess," Russ shuddered at the memory of her. "She 'ad a fancy dress on."

"A wench can have a fancy dress on," Olan muttered out of the side of his mouth and the two breathed a momentary sigh of relief. Though murder of any maid was against law, the potential murder of a noble maiden was more problematic than a common creature. Their relief was short lived.

"She 'ad light gray fur 'n 'er headfur was a'most white it be so pale." Klein blanched at the description. " 'N she 'ad somma t'ose shiny rocks Flynn found on 'er."

"What shiny rocks?"

* * *

"I'm telling you old Trolier saw one creepin' around the docks last night," Cam said quietly to Loukin and Klein as they stood at the entrance to the east gate where two carts were each being hauled through the opening in the city wall by a pair of sturdy hedgehogs. "Admiral Daelahn scared it off by lighting an ale flagon on fire and throwing it at the creature."

Klein half listened to the Guard as he watched the wagons creak by under the iron grille. After alerting the sentries and berating the two lazy beasts staffing the gate, Klein had led the search party himself; leaving Olan and Lieutenant Evrol to deal with the incompetent creatures.

They had found the dead mousemaid easy enough by following the frantic squirrels' tracks in the soft earth, but what else they discovered when they got there was not so easy. It was never easy seeing a dead youngster, let alone one that had been disfigured- slashed by a thin blade all over his body and his innards cut out and smouldering a few paces away from him. The mousemaid herself had been mutilated; her legs twisted like a corkscrew with similar slashes to her body, only her death appeared to have come by a stab to her back, where the young squirrel had received a puncture gouge to his neck.

"Trolier can barely see ten paces in front of his nose," Loukin scoffed and picked a piece of fish from between his teeth with a dagger. "'Sides, it's a madbeast were after. No other creature could do those things to another, let alone torture a Neefray!"

"Aye, but the admiral ain't blind," Cam countered. "He ordered the ships to pull their ramps up for the night and posted a watch. He's been at Vasilis waiting all morning for an audience with the prince."

"Both of you keep it down," Klein snipped. "We don't know what we're after, but if whoever did this was the same creature Daelahn saw then that means it's been in and out of the city _twice_ without getting spotted. That in itself is enough of a worry without it being- well, whatever you two are jabbering it is."

"A Rus-" Cam started and shut his mouth at the lieutenant's glare. "Er, yessir, Lieutenant."

The group stood in relative silence while Klein took the two black sheets from Rian once the hare brought them forward, nodding to the other guards to remove the pine boughs they had used to cover the beasts initially before draping the dark fabric over their bodies. When shrouding Ulyssa's body, he paused briefly, taking in her sorry state for a moment before pulling the coverlet over her head. Her fabled beauty was enough to identify her alone, but the amethysts still weaved through her headfur only confirmed her to be none other than Ulyssa Neefray. It was a dark day of the eastern state of Eurus; first it's baron's only son and heir was being faced with a potential death sentence, Ulran himself possibly striped of his title and now this- a death of one of his house. Aye, it was a dark day indeed.

"Loukin?" Klein asked quietly when the carts dispersed. "I thought you said Baron Ulran said his sister was locked in the dungeons of Calsley with that vermin seer?"

"That he did," the otter sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Plain as day, Klein. Whole court heard him."

"Then how in the Seasons did Lady Ulyssa wash up here?"

"Dunno, Klein- but I think we'd better sleep with pitcher of water in our paws tonight."

"A pitcher of water?" Klein snorted. "Why would that be?"

"Because if Lady Ulyssa did escape from the cells, then maybe her creature did too." He breathed and exhaled loudly. "And the only way t'kill a… well, they don't like water. At least that's what my grandpappy used t'say when he told us stories of them t' go to sleep."

"Never took you for the superstitious type, Loukin," Klein muttered; his mind greatly troubled by the day's events.

"I'm not," he said firmly and turned to make his leave. "That's why ya should take my word on it. Water, Klein- or fire."

"Water or fire," the lieutenant mused. "Why no blades?"

"Blades ain't a natural element," the otter called over his shoulder. "Only way t' counter something _unnatural_ is with something _natural._ Water 'n fire, Klein. Water 'n fire."

"Water and fire," he whispered beneath his breath and strode off behind the cart bound for the palace. With the prince in council it would be up to him to deliver the news to the baron. He only hoped Loukin's advice would not need to be used.

* * *

**Alright, so a bit of a break from the main characters here. I had difficulty writing the accents out for the lumberers sons, Kit, Russ and Flynn, but I think they turned out okay in the end. So...**

**Questions? Comments? Words of Advice? Yay? Nay? Please review! :)**


	25. The Watchers

**Special thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Shadowed One 19, Thomas the Traveler, krikanalo, Blackish, Hamlet and Jade Tealeaf (who has returned to reviewing this story!)**

**A couple things to mention before we get started.**

**1) Yes, this update was delayed, but with good reason. I took a good look at the chapter reviews over the last little bit and took their suggestions to heart (and pen). Needless to say, I tried to rectify my previous shortcomings in this chapter (and the following ones), which leads me to point number 2...**

**2) A super-duper special thanks to Saraa Luna who helped me expand and evolved my description narrative- thanks Saraa! Which leads me to number 3...**

**3) The LONG word count. I am cringing in a corner right now. 8000 words. That's a lot. I generally try to keep my chapters around 5000 words so they are easy to read, but this one, well, commanded a larger count. Which leads to number 4...**

**4) Read this chapter carefully. A lot happens in this chapter. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 24- The Watchers**

The Eutrusian horns sounded from the towers of the Tilt Grounds, their tri-bell tones echoing through the streets and buildings of Aurelius, calling her brave beasts to arms. Under the red and gold standards flapping boldly from atop the spires, the Royal Guards arrived in singles, pairs and groups before the armoured gates of the Guardhouse- a large structure built into the outer wall of the Tilt which housed the soldiers barracks, meeting chambers and store rooms. The creatures lined up to receive orders from their commanding officers; all of them grim faced at the summons, some knowing the reason through whispered gossip, others hearing it for the first time from their fellow soldiers.

The majority of the beasts were waved through the entrance, while the others were dismissed to their homes, their patrol orders and times carefully memorized for the next day. Into the Guardhouse they marched- mouse, hare, otter, squirrel, vole and hedgehog alike- across the slate floor of Officers' Hall and into the open air of the circular training grounds already filling with beasts kitted for martial duty. Adjacent to the Guardhouse archway into the yard, the doors of the Grand Armoury were open and awaiting the Guards preparing for service. In one end of the armaments store they trod, an assorted rabble of common creatures in an array of muted-coloured tunics and jerkins and expelling from the building in a wave of navy uniforms each overlaid with a heavy leather jerkin. Though not in battle regalia, the Royal Guard were dressed for combat; a sword hung neatly at each creatures' side and a short spear placed in every paw as they lined up into squadrons about the Tilt Grounds.

At the armoury's exit, Syr Donovan stood; carefully inspecting each soldier before they joined their groupings. "Keep a sharp eye, lads," the old Arms Master said plainly. "Stay out of the shadows and hold a paw on your hilts."

One by one, they nodded, taking in Donovan's sage advice as they readied themselves for their doubled patrol, grouping into nonets behind a sergeant to face the head of the arena where Martin discussed strategy with his lieutenants over a rolled out map of Aurelius on a table made from an overturned archer's target. The sun shone down from its midday height; the sunlight glinting off the prince's coronet and sending beams of white light reflecting across the yard with his movements. Still garbed in his formal attire of state robes and collar from the morning's sentencing meeting, Martin carefully listened to the senior warbeasts' counsel as he focused his thoughts on the latest strain of his responsibilities. His father had barely adjourned the assembly and the prince taken all of a step and a half out of the Council Chambers when a gaggle of beasts descended upon him regarding matters of state, mysterious sightings and murder.

"I want the city gates shut at dusk," the prince ordered waving off the offered wine from a pawbeast and motioning for a canteen of plain water to sate his thrist. "Every citizen is to be in their homes come nightfall and make sure the homeless are taken to some sort of shelter."

The five creatures in white cloaks nodded their agreement. "Yes, Highness."

"Keep patrols on the streets constant and search every alleyway," he continued, his right paw trailing the roadways on the papyrus with his ink-stained clawtips. "If we are running short on beasts, Admiral Daelahn has offered any landed Mariners to the Guard's service until we've caught this monster."

"And you are sure we are searching for some sort of vermin?" Lieutenant Evrol questioned the royal mouse, noting the weariness to Martin's eyes. "You are certain the murderer is this _vermin seer_ the Eurians found?"

Martin inhaled deeply, composing himself against his stress. "I cannot see how it would be any other beast. My lady aunt Baroness Dalila received a missive this morning from Syr Fendral meant for Baron Ulran informing him of Lady Ulyssa and her creature's escape from Calsley Castle. They searched the keep and all of Lysium before sending the message, giving the two enough time to travel; and seeing as Ulyssa is one of the victims, I can only conclude the vermin to be the murderer."

"Not to mention her condition," Klein snorted in disgust. "Even for a vermin, the way her body was mangled was disgusting. The poor female was tortured."

"Yes, but why come here?" Olan pressed. "Why not take a ship across to the Clawlings Islands or even Ormere? Why trek halfway across Eutrusia to the palace where she could only meet her fate?" He paused for a moment to let his words settle on their shoulders before adding, "what were they looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Martin responded, shaking his head and taking another drink of water. "But I have a feeling we are going to find out soon."

Lieutenant Condor huffed under his breath and tapped the chart with his claw over the palace. "And what of Vasilis, sire?"

"Double the wall guard and drop the portcullises," Martin commanded. "I want the hallways checked every bell. No beast comes or goes without one of your leave, is that understood?" Again, they nodded their acknowledgement.

"I know this must seem excessive," the prince continued, "but until I know what we are dealing with, I'm not taking any chances."

As if to affirm his decision, the sound of chinking metal sounded above them and the lieutenants all gazed upwards to the scaffold where a quartet of Sooty Terns were being fitted with sharpened war-beaks and hardened leather belly guards laced down their backs to protect their white under bellies from arrow attacks from below. The great seabirds stretched up, flapping their wings to check the fit before flexing their footclaws into the wooden landing to splinter the oak in a menacing show of force. Their beady eyes darted about the beasts beneath them as they jerked their black-capped heads about and, picking up on the slightest fidget or nervous movement from the Guards, held their dark wings outwards, hissing air from their nostrils before screeching a boisterous _kvaark!_

Martin did not raise his eyes to the sight or sounds above him, but rather kept his stare forward to observe the Guards while they continued to fall into line, picking out his own examples of anxiety and dread at the task before them; however, he did not miss his lieutenants' silent question.

"The terns will patrol the coastline." The five white cloaks returned their attention to the table at the prince's voice. "If the vermin has any sense, then it will be looking for a ship to get out of Eutrusia- which it's welcome to," he paused and patted the hilt of his jewelled sword he wore for the sentencing meeting to appease his father, "in a wooden box."

Lieutenant Malax swished his paw over the forested area depicted on the map. "I've still got the trackers out looking for a trail and some of our best bowbeasts are set up in the trees around where the bodies were in case that creature comes back."

"Good. Were they able to find any pawprints besides the squirrelets?"

The hedgehog let out a sigh and rubbed his neck above his spikes. "No, sire."

"Hellsgates," Martin swore and resisted the urge to spit the sour taste from his mouth. Knocking his fists back into the table, he asserted, "The creature had to have left tracks somehow. What did it do- fly?"

The last of the beasts exited the armoury and Donovan shouted the call to attention. In a uniformed shuffle of paws and steel, the Guards formed up into their ranks; all of them silent and awaiting their instructions.

"Did Baron Ulran have any other information for us?" Olan pressed and leaned on the table as well to eye the prince. "Any indication at all what this vermin thing looked like?"

"Just that it's cloaked in black and walks with some sort of limp," Martin exhaled and stretched up. "I'm afraid the baron's mind is a bit on overload at present- it's not every day a beast has to endure the news of his sister's death and watch his only son dragged away in chains to a dungeon. Perhaps he'll remember more details in the morning, but for now we must get through the remainder of the day and night."

The six beasts conversed quickly as they confirmed the patrol routes and crossovers, Martin delegating posts and shifts for his lieutenants before waving them off to the disperse the Guards and give the sergeants their perambulation orders. Looking up to the scaffold, the prince gave the barest of nods and the Sooty Terns opened their wings wide, bowing their heads downward in respect before pushing off the wood to take flight above the Tilt Grounds. In a diamond formation, the seabirds swooped once around the spires and split into pairs to observe the coastline in either direction. With the clanking of bolts and the stomping of footpaws, the Guards exited the yard into the city by the Guard Gate, focusing Martin's attention forward once more. Before him, leafless trees of timber and iron funnelled through the opening, a mobile forest of death that he had sent to take root amongst the cobbles and thatch of his kingdom's capital. They would catch this ruinous vermin and bring him to justice against the threats to his city's peace. The prince's mind teamed with thoughts and proceedings, and while he watched the creatures fall out to their duty, Martin felt the weight of his own pressing hard upon his shoulders.

Observing the prince for a moment, Syr Donovan let out a sigh and walked over to the young royal, giving him a smile and pretending to look down at the map.

"You look tired, Your Highness," he said quietly so as to not be overheard; Martin shifted his eyes down to the Arms Master. "You've done all you can for now," Donovan continued, "best to get back to the palace and rest. You've had a stressful morning."

"To a greater stress this afternoon," the prince muttered and briefly popped his eyebrows in recognition. "The king and I must announce the council's ruling on Baron Ulran and Lord Ulrick."

The aging squirrel snorted. "Ah, yes. I heard you had Ulrick dragged to the cells by his tail. Tell me, did he screech as maidenly as Neron did when your grandsire had him by the sack?"

"I'm not sure," Martin chuckled. "I wasn't even born yet during the Uprising of Eurus, let alone there when my father and grandfather stormed Calsley Castle, Donny."

"No, you were just a wee thing in your mother's belly when we did that," he mused and looked up at the prince. "And now look at you- eighteen seasons old and dealing with the same tripe we thought ended with the rebels defeat." The smile fell from Martin's face as Donovan pointed to his stained paw. "How you holding up, lad?"

"Holding up?" Martin scoffed, rubbing his clawtips together as if to erase proof of the deed and pretending to be unbothered by the question. "What do you mean by that, syr?"

"I mean simply- how are you holding up?" The two just stared at each other until Donovan elaborated his question, "By the looks of your paw, you just signed your first execution warrant. You had your first viewing of a tortured body, your first time paying respects to a family grieving the loss of their firstborn killed in cold blood; and now, you are planning your first defense of the city against an unknown threat. That's a lot of firsts to come in a span of a few bells." Donovan paused to give his words credence. "So, I'll ask you again, Your Highness: How are you holding up?"

"Ha!" Martin chortled nervously and rubbed his paw over his face, while taking a cleansing breath. "I'm fine, Donovan, or at least, I will be when all of this is over."

"Aye, you will," he smiled. "You're a strong lad just like your grandsire, though he chose to slay a few trees when he got stressed. Oh-ho- did the fires ever burn bright whenever the warrior saw red!"

Martin laughed lightly at the turn of phrase. "I'm all right, Donovan." Resting his left paw on the jewelled hilt of his blade, the prince grimaced at the feel of it. "Just another day of being a prince."

The squirrel shook his head and gave the prince a little smirk, motioning with his paw for them to retreat into the shade of the Guardhouse and out of the heat of the midday sun. Turning to his servants, Martin dismissed them with a kind word and nod before striding off with Donovan into the Officers' Hall. Cool shade waved over them as they entered the building, welcoming the two beasts into its gallery where the Arms Master plunked his bottom down on a chair at the first long table inside the double doors.

"Ah, that's better," he sighed and rubbed his knee while looking about the great timbered hall with its standards hanging from the exposed rafters. "I'm getting too old to stand up for that length of time." Before Martin could respond, Donovan tilted his head towards Martin's left hip. "Finally wearing that jewelled blade your father gave you, I see."

"Just for ceremonies or matters of state," Martin replied as he took a seat across from his grandsire's closest friend. "I was wearing my battle blade at the questioning and my father mentioned he'd like to see me use this one from now on."

"It is a pretty sword," the Arms Master relented, "More _princely_ than your other one, that is for sure; but I thought it wasn't balanced?"

"It's not," Martin exhaled and pulled the weapon from its scabbard to lay it on the table between them. Tapping the places where he had pried out some of the gems to further his point. Donovan leaned over the hilt, scrutinizing it with an experienced eye.

"Then why bother to carry it?" the squirrel stated with a huff and rested against the chair back once more. "Wielding an unbalanced blade is as useless as holding a tipless spear."

"Maybe, but I will not slight my father by disobeying his wishes or disregarding the blade he had made for me." Martin's answer was curt, but without malice. Looking down at the sword with empty appreciation, the prince could not help but wish it was his grandsire's sword settled between them. The ancient broadsword may have been plain and without splendour, but the overwhelming sense of safety emulating from its steel outweighed any that an eye could behold.

"I suppose you're right, sire," Donovan smiled and clicked his tongue against the parched feel of his inner cheeks, "but a word of advice from an old warbeast- in times of trouble, keep the blade meant for your paw _in your paw."_

The Arms Master got to his footpaws and walked over to the large arras centering the southern wall and flanked by two tall iron candelabrums; the red cloth contrasting with the golden thread of the Eutrusian Scroll and Sword emblem.

"You know, I made a promise to your grandsire before he died," he started in guarded tones. "I don't imagine you remember it, but I was standing beside you received your sword. Your mother was at your grandsire's side, holding his paw and I was sitting by him on the other when your father brought you in. The moment you saw your grandfather you started hopping in your poor Da's paws until he put you down and you toddled over to him as slow as syrup in a frost." Martin frowned at the reference. "You had just learned to walk a few days before that, sire- you weren't sturdy on your paws yet, but determined to walk to him on your own, you were!

"He told you he was proud of you and for you to always be brave, to do the right thing and never be ashamed of yourself for you were a prince and his grandson- you had nothing to be ashamed of. You had such a serious expression on your face; it's like you knew what was happening, though you had no words for it. Your father and I helped you hold the hilt of his sword while he recited the creed to you and at the end you even gave a little nod.

"You gave your grandsire a hug before your father took you and your new sword away, leaving just your mother and I there for his final moments. It was then, your grandsire made me promise to always watch out for you and your mother now that he could not and I did not hesitate to make that vow to my best friend."

"Donovan, I-" Martin started, halting his speech and giving the squirrel a puzzled look before joining him at the tapestry. "Why are you telling me this, Donovan?"

"Just that I've watched you grow with a vigilant eye, Your Highness," he smirked. "I know you are now a grown mouse and can take care of yourself, but I still see the young mouselet who used to argue with me that a blue fletched arrow flew straighter than a white one during his archery practice."

Martin simpered at the memory and Donovan gave the prince a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm too old now to be of service to you in battle, Your Highness, but I can still honour my vow if you'll listen to an old soldier's and take the advice I offer you."

Martin looked straight into the squirrel's eyes. "And what advice would that be?"

"Get some rest; you won't do yourself any good by running your mind into the ground. Keep your mind sharp and your paw on your blade-" he turned back and waved off the jewelled sword on the table. "-your _true_ blade. If you have your true sword at your side, I know you will be safe."

* * *

Malina lightly padded down the darkened corridor of the palace's hidden passways; a single candle illuminating the narrow hallway as she made her way upwards to the ramparts. Coming to a crosspath, the princess halted to get her bearings, listening for recognizable sounds or voices of certain beasts stationed at various places about the royal residence to aid her in confirming location. Not hearing any, she sighed and picked up her gown skirts again, looking left then right before settling on the middle passage to continue her ascent.

It was not often the princess used the passways, silently admonishing herself for not paying better attention to the twisting paths through the palace walls. Martin knew them like the back of his paw, but then he had always used them to move about the palace when they were younger. She had not been as adventurous as he and chose to use the common hallways and foyer crossings to reach her destinations; frequently, the two had turned it into a race to see who would get there the quickest of which Martin was a constant victor. It wasn't often Malina used the passways, only when she went places she was not permitted to go: The beach during the night where she could watch the moon glimmer on the ocean and send silent prayers to her real parents who died in the waters, to the Royal Nursery to mourn after one of Valina's multiple miscarriages, to her parents chamber after a frightful dream, or to Martin's chambers when she needed to hide. And now she was using them again, not to pray or mourn, not to hide or seek comfort, but to end the anxiety building in her chest and denying her sleep.

_I just need to see him,_ she thought to herself, sidestepping around a box that was carefully placed by a spyhole. _He's on wall patrol, but I need to hear it from him that it's over. That I'm free of Ulrick._

It was selfish of her, she knew. Turmoil was rampage through the palace, through the city, even the country to an extent. Execution warrants had been signed, a powerful noble condemned to die; a madbeast was lose about Aurelius, a murderer who tortured a great lady and common child to death. The Guard had been mustered, patrols marched through the capital; her father's closest friend and beloved aunt's husband struggled to keep the shards of his crumbling life in his paws, and all she could think about was her own reassurance- that she would not be forced into a marriage she could not even fathom the possibility of. And, all she could think about was him.

Trotting carefully up the crude steps, Malina reached a seemingly dead end on the wood board landing. Finding the small hooked latch carefully concealed in the wall's timberwork, Malina blew out her candle and placed it on the floor before pressing the handle downwards. To her surprise the hidden doorway notched inwards and she strained to pull it open, slipping out into the dim lit spiral stairwell of the western turret. Starting slightly as the door clicked shut behind her, the princess stalked cautiously in the shadows towards the archway leading to the ramparts.

Orange flames licked out the tops of the parapets' braziers creating a warm-toned pathway across the cold stones, the moon's blueing light casting hues of mauve and gray over the walls stones and corner shadows. Taking a cautious step out from the dark entryway, Malina halted when Martin appeared from around an outcrop. A smile erupted on her face and the relief waved over her as she boldly stepped out onto the rampart.

Martin's ear flicked back at the sound of an approaching beast, spinning on his heel towards the sound, his left paw on his scabbard and right pulling his broadsword out a paw width in awareness. The moonlight beamed off his breastplate and the turn coiled his red cloak around his legs from the motion. Malina stopped at the sight of his narrowed eyes and stern expression, exhaling only once his features softened in recognition and Martin released his hold on his sword. Shaking his head, he strode purposefully over to her.

"Malina, what are you doing here?" Martin gaped at the princess, grasping her elbows and pulling her closer to him as he took a half step forward. Looking her firmly in the eyes, he said sternly, "you should be in your chambers at this hour- not out on the wall and certainly not out here when there is trouble about."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Martin with the amount of security you have employed, a bee couldn't get into the orchards without you knowing."

"And yet you managed to dodge all my guards and made it up here," he replied, loosening his grip on her arms and taking a step back from her. Looking over to the other guards traversing the area, Martin gestured for them to move to a space by the turret where the shadows offered them a version of privacy.

"I'm not a bee," she whispered to him and grinned slyly once they reached their refuge.

_That you are not,_ Martin thought as he looked down into her eyes. He had been replaying the day's events over and over in his mind while on duty, fighting the emotions of anger and stress clouding his mind, and seeing her there, regardless of the reason, swept the fogs away in a single swipe. Without thinking he raised his paw to her face, brushing a stray lock of headfur back behind her shoulder.

"We missed you at the evening meal," Malina stated, blushing at his attention and trying to break the intense gaze he was giving her. "Where were you?"

"Sleeping," Martin confessed and moved his paws down her arms to clasp her paws. "I wanted to oversee the night watch and needed some rest before I did so."

"Father was cross you were not there," she said quietly. "After all that went on this morning, some nobles were muttering you were hiding after the… decision you made this morning."

Martin gave an incredulous snort and gestured around the night air with his paw. "Oh, yes, _hiding. _Well, if the pompous arses were not _hiding_ in their apartments with guards at their doors and looked out onto which beasts were protecting them this evening they would see who is truly _hiding."_

"I know you aren't hiding, Martin, but your position as the kingdom's future king dictated you should have been there with Father to affirm your solidarity to the rulings you gave this morning."

"And my position as Captain of the Royal Guard determined that I protect my subjects," Martin retorted with an annoyed tone before checking his infliction with a rough exhale. "I am but one beast acting the lives of two separate creatures and sometimes I have to decide which role takes precedence over the other in times of trouble."

"Yes," she whispered and looked him over. "You are immeasurably a warrior right now." Malina inhaled deeply and looked back up into his eyes. "But I heard you were very much a prince this morning."

Martin raised his chin slightly, cocking his head to the side in a questioning manner to encourage the princess to continue divulging what she knew.

"I heard how you took command of the council meetings this morning regarding the sentencing," she admitted. "You were resilient in your conviction of Ulrick." Pausing for moment, she clasped her paws together and blinked angst from her eyes. "You sentenced him to death."

"Yes." Martin's reply was flat and seemingly emotionless.

"You rid the kingdom of him." She took a deep breath. "You- you rid m-me of him."

"Yes." Martin's blue eyes tempered as the calm night air.

Malina waited for him to say more, desperately wanting to hear him continue what he had started the day before in the Presence Chamber, and when he didn't, she added, "Thank-you. You don't know how much it means to me…"

"Are you so against marriage, Malina?" he questioned, shifting on his footpaws like he was wary of her answer. "Or was it just marriage to Ulrick you were opposed to?"

"Ulrick," she breathed and looked out at the stars suspending over the folding waters of the ocean. "He was so… I don't have a word for it- I only ever conversed with him that one time, if you can even call it that, but the whole while he made me feel uneasy; like he was hiding a great secret."

"He may be," Martin sighed, his gaze following hers. "I gave him a choice, Malina. Divulge what he knew about the seer and what it had told him, and he could live out his days in captivity attainted, striped of all lands and titles- everything, but his life. Or, if he held his tongue, he would be charged with high treason and executed." Leaning on the blocked wall, the prince snarled and pressed his fists into the stone. "The damned mouse just stood there with a grin on his face. Great Seasons, Ulran was practically on his knees begging Ulrick to take the offer and the bastard couldn't even suck up his own conceited pride to save his father the sight of watching his own son killed!"

"And he said nothing?" Even for Ulrick, this seemed suspicious to Malina.

"All he said was it would have been cleaner if I had died up north in the rebellion," Martin growled and Malina's eyes popped at the statement.

"I wager Father did not like the sound of that."

"That's when he took control and ordered Ulrick to make his choice- he chose death."

"And yet after all that, you were compassionate enough to insist he be given the right to choose his own mention of execution." Martin turned to her, his eyes questioning her source of information, to which Malina smirked, "I overheard Father telling Mother the result of the proceedings."

"It wasn't compassion, but respect, Malina," Martin sighed. "Ulrick is a great lord in his own right regardless of being an heir to a baronage. I am not about to march him up a public scaffold and put his head on a pike for the sun to rot- traitor or not." Malina grimaced at the imagery. "Ulrick can die with what little honour and dignity he holds in whatever manner he chooses, and then Baron Ulran will have the full custody of the body to give proper burial rites to his son."

"Ulran is to continue holding the baronage then?" she asked in a guarded tone.

"Yes, but he will never be asked to represent the crown again," Martin informed her. "Father fined him heavily, but the Eurian treasure will barely feel it in truth. The hardest thing for Ulran will be the death of Ulrick. He will have to live out the rest of his days knowing his one misstep in judgement led to his son's execution."

Malina gave him a hard stare. "It's not Ulran's fault his son acted against the wishes of the crown and killed those beasts."

"No, but he will feel the guilt all the same." Looking into the soft green of her irises, Martin added. "The council is pushing for Baron Ulran to put Aunt Dalila aside and take a fertile wife- one that will bear him more children. Things will be stressful for the next few days until Father and I can counter that mess."

"Mother and I visited Aunt Dalila this morning," Malina sighed. "She suspected something like that would come about."

"How is she?" Martin asked. "I haven't been able to see her yet, I-"

"She's weak, but still the same in mind and spirit," she assured him. "You know Aunt Dalila, she's incredibly offended this illness did not consult her first before it took root."

Her light jest made him smile. "Well, she just might turn it all around, even if it is only to crow over Father's healers for getting it wrong. Watch- she'll outlive us all just out of spite!"

They both laughed together and Malina raised her paw to cup his cheek. "There, that's better."

"What?" Martin chuckled and furrowed his brow. "Malina, what are you talking about?"

"You smiled," she conceded. "Every time I saw you today you wore a frown and look to be under a lot of pressure. I like it when you smile, Martin- I… I like making you smile."

Malina blinked back her blush at his narrowed eyes and tried to remove her paw from his face, but Martin caught it in his, curling his claws around her fingers and pressing back against his fur.

"Then you succeeded at dawn," he whispered to her, breathing in the bright scent of orange blossoms perfuming her wrist. "For I woke with thoughts of you on my mind and for that I will always smile."

Malina could barely think as Martin stepped closer to her, sliding his free paw around the small of her back and nuzzling her held paw; feeling his lips kiss her palm, she gasped and tried to pull it away from his grip, but he held her tighter, kissing her wrist and forearm in slow measured caresses all the while pulling her paw to the back of his head. Resting her palm at the base of his skull, Martin ran his claws down her arm, over her shoulder and up her neck. Sensually, he spread his fingers over her soft fur and tipped her chin up with his thumb.

"I can't fight this anymore, Malina," Martin breathed, his heart hammering against his chest so ferociously he swore his breastplate would dent outwards. "I've tried- I can't."

"What feeling?" she asked coyly, rising to her pawtips so she could put her right arm around his shoulder. Pressing up against his body, Malina shuddered at his closeness and the cold chill of his breastplate cooling her chest through her gown bodice. Her body was set aflame with anticipation; every extremity tingled in want of his touch and her ears rang with strain as they waited to hear his answer, her heart leaping with eagerness.

"You," he murmured in a deep voice, dropping his face to hers, stroking it slowly and relishing the feel of her fur against his. "With me. Together…"

"Martin," Malina gasped and instinctually batted his head upwards with her nose to expose his lips.

"Malina," he said softly and ran his paw up her back to wind his fingers through her curling headfur. Seeing her breath catch in his throat at his touch, Martin took her chin firmly in his paw and lowered his lips to hers, moaning with the bolts of lightning flashing through his body at the taste of honey, of spices, of… her. He pulled Malina closer to him, exploring her lips with his; the princess went soft in his arms, her paws grasping to him in attempt to stay upright on her weakened knees.

Malina senses blazed about her in the timeless bubble that enveloped them. The sounds of the sea mimicked the motion of Martin's lips on hers, the light sea breeze fluttering her skirts around his legs while his cloak billowed and made as if to cocoon them together, forever. She could feel her body quaking and she felt hot and needy in his arms, marvelling how every contour of their bodies seemed to fit one another; every curve its own crevice to rest. The young princess' heart soared from her chest into her throat and she hummed and moaned at the feeling of love swelling that heart as if it would explode from her body.

Gently, Martin broke away the kiss, holding her lightly as both of them breathed heavily and searched for words before disregarding all reasonable thought and locking their lips together again, and again- each time their movements more erratic, their breath quicker, their kisses more frantic. Finally, releasing his lips from hers, Martin placed hurried kisses down her neck, his paws now beginning to rove over her waist and hips, making Malina sigh at his touch.

"Martin," she gasped in his ear while he teased her neck with his teeth, "Martin, we- we can't. I'm not yours-"

"You are mine," he affirmed hotly. "You always have been mine and no other's." Twisting his head back up to look at her, Martin cupped her face with both his paws. "And after tomorrow, Malina- after I've dealt with Ulrick once and for all, I will make sure everybeast knows how much you are mine."

Malina giggled. "Is that your idea of a marriage proposal?" Martin grinned at her, the starlight reflecting in his eyes as he nodded his agreement. Pressing his forehead to hers, he whispered, "Only if you'll have me.

"I have only ever wanted you," Martin continued. "There will only ever be you. I want no other but you. I want you for my lifetime."

Malina could only smile up at him, her words frozen on the end of her tongue as she willed her eyes to tell him what her voice could not. She loved him. She always had and now she knew he too felt the same way, there was neither greater feeling nor phrase she could muster would ever be able to describe the way she felt at that moment. Martin gave a light huff in his smirk at her speechlessness and as if completely understanding her, tilted his head to claim her lips again; this time in a slow and passionate caress. He couldn't get enough of her.

The bells in the watchtower started tolling over the slumbered city, their gongs echoing off the buildings to the count of twelve. Reluctantly, Martin pulled his head away from Malina.

"The guard will be changing their shifts," he said quietly. "We shouldn't be seen up here alone together. Come on- I'll take you safely to the passways and then you must promise me to go straight to your chambers- I don't want you walking about the palace unguarded, Malina. At least not right now."

"Yes, Martin," she said dutifully, stepping back and letting her paws slide down his arms to clasp his paws between them. "Are you not retiring to your chambers for the evening?"

"Not yet. I have to question those returning from patrol and make any adjustments to the routes that need be. I may even go out on a turn myself."

"Determined to catch this beast within a day are you?" she tried to jest as he started to walk back to the turret with her.

"It will be easier- the longer we take to catch the creature, the more time it has to hide and possibly kill another innocent. I can't let that happen."

Guiding her into the circular stairwell, both the prince and princess descended a flight of steps, stopping on the landing. Martin reached up and pulled the wall sconce down to hear a soft click and then pushed stones inward to reveal a hidden doorway.

"Straight to your chambers, Malina," he said firmly, pulling her into his arms once more. "Promise me?"

"I promise, Martin," she exhaled, soothing the worried creases wrinkling his brow. "Don't worry about me."

"I will always worry about you." Hearing the sound of footpaws starting to climb the stairs, he let Malina go to slip into the passway. "Tie a shawl to your balcony railing when you get back. I'll look for it when I return to mine and that way I'll know you are safe."

The princess merely dipped her head in acknowledgement and picked up her candle from the floorboards for Martin to relight from the wall torch; wordlessly, she dipped into the shadows disappeared down the alleyway steps as he quietly shut the door. The prince exhaled in a long shuddering breath and flopped back against the wall with a smile on his face. After everything that seemed to be falling on his lap, this was the one weight he could bare without strain; the one thing that seemed certain. Malina.

* * *

Moisture slicked the rock walls of Vasilis' foundations, their dark colour reflecting the torchlight and giving the false impression of a golden hue to the stones. Roughhewn stairs were carved out in steep descent around the vast pillars supporting the grand palace, leading down into the cliff from which it was built; down into the depths were light only came from torches and the eyes of miserable beasts forced to endure its dank confines for their offenses against the crown.

At the bottom of the steps stood an empty hallway; at the end of that hallway a single door studded with iron nodules and guarded by only two sentries standing at attention wielding halberds. After all, it was not getting into the dungeons they made difficult, but the getting out.

On the other side of the door, four guards sat at a square table, jesting and sharing a platter of bread and cheese. Their uniforms were mirror images of themselves; tattered around the edges and patched in places of wear. They were not straight backed and virtuous as the Royal Guard; no, these green clad creatures were prison guards, and it was widely known prison guards were cut from a different kind of cloth. They were hardnosed and uncouth, their manners coarse- yet it did not seem to bother them.

"I'm tellin' ya- t' finest hips in the cliffside," a squirrelguard squawked and chugged a mouthful of brew. "What I wouldn't have gave for a tussle with her when we were younger!"

"And where be she now?" a vole chortled, sloppily chewing a wedge of cheddar into a thick paste in his open mouth.

"Married to the rot-nosed Lieutenant Olan!" he laughed. "Damn squirrel got to Salfin when he was a sergeant and turned her head with all his 'I'm a Deodar' tripe. O' course she not gonna look at a dungeon guard like me when she could have a flashy officer like him."

"From what I 'ear she's got quite t'mouth on 'er," an otter snipped out a bit logical reason. "Not all tips an' hips, y'keep braggin' 'bout."

"Aye, she does- ba ya know that's only a strike o' two away." Holding up his right paw, the squirrel flipped it from back to palm. "Discipline. Reminder."

The four of them laughed at the gesture and a mouse stood up in his spoiled uniform to gain attention. "Well, I prefer to shut 'em up in other ways," he snorted. Taking a bowl from the table he turned it into his body and performed a few vulgar movements with grunting sound effects, sending his guard mates into hysterics. "A few good pumps to the back o' their throats are all they need to be shown who is boss."

A snort sounded from behind the bars three cells down a narrow hallway. "Low-born bilge mouse," said the voice from the darkness.

The guard hurled his bowl in the direction of the voice, the wood clanging off the iron rungs and clattering on the stone floor with a clamorous ring before it rolled into the black abyss past the flickering sconces.

"And 'ho are you to call me a low-born bilge mouse, _traitor,"_ he snarled and pointed a claw at the pair of eyes that pocked the darkness. " 'Ho are you to jest at me when you've probably shoved your poker down half a dozen maids. Lest I didn't go 'gainst my king." Looking back at his guardmates, the mouse simpered. "What are you- jealous it'll never happen t'you again?"

"I'm sure they have whores in the Dark Forest."

"Don't count on it. You're headed for Hellsgates."

"Oh, good," the prisoner sneered. "I'll meet your mother there then."

"You no good, lousey-"

"Easy, Carmyn," the otter said sharply and grabbed the guard by the collar to haul down into his chair once more. "Jus' leave 'im alone- 'member, we ain't suppose t'talk to 'im."

"Scumsucking whoreson," Carmyn seethed and crossed his paws over his chest. Not able to control his anger, the mouse shouted over his shoulder. "I hope your chamber is comfortable for you on y'last night alive, _Lord Ulrick."_

"Quite fine, I assure you. The décor is a little bland, but it matches the company; and this mouldy straw- tell me, which one of you pulled it from your own mattress to give me such superb filth?"

"Don't answer 'im, mates," the otter asserted as the vole shifted on his seat and the squirrel bristled his tail in anger. "Pay 'im no heed."

"Easier said than done," the vole complied.

A few moments past in silence, the guards resumed munching solemnly on their rations as the steady drips from the stalactites echoed amidst quiet roars of the torch flames devouring oxygen and filling the stagnant air with hushed hatred.

"Shall we play a game?" Ulrick called from the shadows, turning with a clank of his chains and shuffling on his bottom to sit by the cell front. Wrapping his claws around the bars, he craned his neck to look on at the unsure sentries. "If we're going to be down here all night, we might as well do something to pass the time."

"No talking!" the squirrel snapped. "And get yar paws off t'bars. I see them like that again and I'll cut them off, I will!"

Slowly, Ulrick slipped his paws off the blackened rods and rolled over on his tail, leaning his back against the grate instead. "Fine- but I'm not spending my final hours in silence."

The four beasts were quiet.

"Oh, marvellous- the silent treatment," Ulrick laughed. "I haven't had that since I was… well, ten seasons old. Is that the best you lot can come up with?"

Still no response.

The noble mouse sighed and stared into the blackness at the back of his cell, watching the light casting shadows and creating shapes against the chiselled walls. After a short time, he spoke again.

"Do any of you read?" he started and then shook his head at the ridiculous notion. "What am I saying, of course none of you read. You can barely write your own names I bet- just some rudimentary letters the Guard taught you during your preliminary training, perhaps?" He heard a chair scuffed the ground as a beast fought to hold their tongue.

"Well, when I was little, six seasons old actually, my father brought home a new bride and tried to make me love her. He thought that I needed a mother to help teach me compassion and temperance, virtues he deemed were qualities a good lord need to behold. But what my dear father forgot was that I had already been taught virtues by my grandfather and aunt; ambition, devotion and tactfulness, so his lessons, or rather _her_ lessons fell on deaf ears really.

"I couldn't believe he replaced my true mother and let this new fascination of his sit in her chair, occupy her rooms, sleep in her bed with him, but he did and in my eighth season I caught the fever that had claimed my grandfather's life. My father was away, here in Aurelius, for some reason or another on the king's summons and his wife disregarded the healers' warnings and kept vigil over me through the night. She bathed my brow and rubbed my paws in hers, assuring me she sent for my father and he would be home as soon as he could. I was too weak to tell her to leave me, to inform her I didn't want her around- that I wanted my aunt to watch me instead, so she stayed with me and served me broth and cups of water. After a short time she sent for her favourite tomes and started reading aloud until I feel asleep.

"By morning my fever had broken and she was asleep with her head resting at the end of my bed-"

"We don't care about your damned illness," the vole chirped from the table. "And you gettin' sick gots nothing t'do with the fact of us being able t'read or not."

Ulrick smiled at the agitation to the guard's voice. "Yes, I digressed a little there- my apologies. But what I am really getting to is that she left one volume unread. It was called _The Watcher's Fall_- have any of you heard or read about it?"

Silence.

"I thought not," Ulrick leered and licked his lips. "It's a heroic poem really. I'm surprised none of you have heard about it. Anyways, I picked up the book and started to read it- immediately I was caught up in the excitement of the tale and the devotion the lone watchbeast had to his family, to his post that he was able to hold the tower for eleven days against a horde of white foxes while his fellow guards ran for aid. Amazing really, that one squirrel archer could delay a horde of vicious vermin on his own for close to a fortnight."

"Lies." The otter spat out his response. "No beast could do that- not even a beast with bloodwrath could take on a horde and win."

"Oh, no, the squirrel did not have bloodwrath, but he was smart, cunning and tactful," Ulrick chuckled, focusing on a particular shape that shifted in the shadows. "He knew how to manipulate the minds of his opponents into thinking he was not one beast, but many."

"And how did he do that?" the mouse guard scoffed. "What did yar fancy pages wrapped in leather tell ya he did?"

"He played to their fears," Ulrick said plainly, letting his lips curl into a noxious smile. "He used the shadows and made them afraid of the dark."

"An old wives' tale," the squirrel huffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Some epic. Shadows- Aawwweeoooowww- I'm shakin' on my claws!" The four guards shared a laugh and Ulrick continued to watch the darkness of his cell.

"Shadows are a dangerous thing," he warned them. "You can't make out what is truly in them until they want to be made known and wherever you go, shadows are everywhere, can slip anywhere. You can't run from them. You can't hide from them. They will always find you anywhere you go." Two eyes popped open in the blackness and Ulrick tilted his head to the side with a confident laugh.

"And eventually the shadows will devour your courage- they will eat you whole." He paused, locking eyes with the creature shrouded in darkness before him. "And when the shadows eat you whole, no beast can hear you scream."

* * *

**As always, if you read it, please review it!**

**As you can see, I take reviews seriously and use YOUR input to improve my writing, so the more I reviews I get, the better a story you will ultimately get to read. :P**

**Again, a heartfelt thanks to those who have reviewed so far and to Saraa for reading the preliminary of this chapter. You guys rock! :)**


	26. The Shadows Have Eyes

**Hello Everyone! Sorry, it's been awhile- life has a way of getting in the way sometimes. :P**

**Anyways, thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Saara Luna, koryandrs, Blackish, Jade Tealeaf, Shadowed One 19 and Thomas the Traveler. A special thanks to Jade Tealeaf for helping me fine tune this chapter. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 25- The Shadows Have Eyes**

_All around him beasts were screaming. Running. Tripping over one another and trampling themselves into the ground. The world was a blur of cyclonic colour and deep shadows whirled around him like a maelstrom. In the center of the Grand Gallery Martin stood, his heart pounding in his chest, his sword gripped in his paw._

_ Out of the frantic motion, Loukin stepped forward; his jovial smile wreathing his face. "Run," he said and pointed to the doors to the courtyard as they opened with a blinding white light. The prince raised his left paw to shield his eyes from the glare._

_ "Run where?" he asked, tilting his head around his buffer. "Loukin, run where? Why?"_

_ The otter opened his mouth to speak again, but a choked gasp replaced his words and Martin saw the tip of a dirk stabbed out the front of his chest. Blood bubbled from the otter's mouth, his lips quivering for a moment before the blade receded and he crumpled to the swirling floor._

_ "Loukin!" Martin cried, taking a hastened step forward before the image of another creature halted his advance. "Donovan?"_

_ The kindly arms master held a blue fletched arrow flat in his palms, offering it to Martin. "Run." His voice was devoid of all inflection. "Run."_

_ "Donny, why am I running? Why-" Martin's answer came in a gargled response as the needled weapon poked its point through the material of squirrel's tunic. "No- Donny!" Martin bellowed and jumped forward to catch the elder._

_ "No, Martin!" a voice shrieked from his right and an arm darted across his body to clasp his shoulders, holding him back. The prince looked down at the slender arm, its gown sleeves trailing to the ground, then up to his right where Valina stood beside him._

_ "No, Martin, you can't save them," she said strongly, pulling him back upright. "You must _run. _ Go now. _Run."

_Fear ran down his spine and his eyes grew wide. "Mama- watch your back!" he snapped, pulling her to him and holding her against his body while pointing his sword straight ahead in silent challenge of the unseen threat._

_ "There's no time for this, Martin," she said and pushed away from him roughly. Taking a tiny ship from her sleeve, Valina held up his favourite childhood toy. "Run." Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her lip until it bled. "Please run, my little princeling. Please, please run. Run before you have no choice-"_

_ Confusion clouded his mind. "Mama- what are you…"_

_ "Sands of white and sails of gold,  
Seas of blue and courage bold.  
Banners red and crowns of wealth,  
Bravery, wisdom the Seasons dealth."_

_ The sound of maiden singing reached his ears and Martin looked over his shoulder to see another door open, but unlike its adjacent entryway that led to seemingly nothing, this beheld the scene of a little family; a mousewife richly clad with dark curling headfur and six mouselets flocking around her by a blazing fire while she sang._

_ "Truth and honour doth behold,  
Our fortunes in the prophets told.  
Blessings, gifts, divining guides,  
Strength in arms, defining minds."_

_ "Martin- go!" his mother pleaded, holding the ship out further. "Don't look at it, please- you have to run!"_

_ But he was entranced by the view before him. In distant voices he could hear the family laugh and play with each other in their games. A symmetrical blend of males and maids bounced around the mother and she continued to sing as she adjusted the waistband on the youngest maiden's gown, never missing a note._

_ "Forever will we stand for right,  
Scroll and Sword, Eutrusia's might.  
Ships and sails, Guard and pike,  
Protect our shores against cors-like."_

_ Taking a step closer, he could see their faces clearer; he could see her face clearly. It was Malina. The mousewife was Malina. Martin smiled. This was their future family._

_ "Martin!" Valina screamed at him. "Martin- please!"_

_ "It's my family, Mama," he grinned, taking yet another stride towards his future. "I don't need to run from my family." Malina turned slightly and saw him. Tapping the mouselets to gain their attention, she pointed him out and they all waved and greeted him in muted tones. As ever, she continued to sing._

_"Ever will our hearts true,_  
_Land of plenty just for you,_  
_Eutrusia!_  
_Sing again and again._  
_Eutrusia,_  
_Sing again and again._  
_Eutrusia,_  
_Sing again and again…"_

_Martin laughed, lifting his footpaw for another step and then he heard it; a painful cry and the sound of flesh suctioning onto steel. Spinning on his heel, he saw his mother, her mouth agape in anguish and tears pouring from her eyes to match the blood dripping down the bodice of her gown. _

_ "_Mother_!" he yowled as the toy ship dropped from her paws and she grabbed at the wound before falling forward with the others. Dropping to his knees, Martin fell forward on his paws to take deep breaths against his sorrow; his own tears slipping from his eyelids._

_ "Father?" a young voice whispered behind him and he felt a small paw on his shoulder. Martin flicked his head up to look at a young male about twelve seasons old staring at him with soft green eyes and dark coppery fur. "Is it time to fight?"_

_ "Fight?" Martin gaped, noticing the small helm under the youngster's arm and a long dagger thrust into his belt. "What do you mean fight?"_

_ "The vermin," another male about ten said bravely as he shoved his own helmet back so he could see better. Like the older mouselet, he too had a short blade, only he held his. "The horns mean they landed, right?"_

_ Martin just stared at them in awe, not knowing what to say until a tiny mouselet, no older than four seasons, squeezed between them with a wooden play-sword in his paw. "We can help, Father," he said boldly. "We can fight, too."_

_ "This is a dream," Martin breathed, glancing from mouselet to mouselet. "This has to be a dream, but you're my…" He swallowed his realization in a single gulp. "You're my sons?"_

_ The eldest nodded and Martin noticed the Etifedd's coronet glint from atop his head. "And we'll bravely die protecting our kingdom, Father."_

_ "Die?" Martin spat out and popped his eyes momentarily before snapping his head upwards to the doors beholding the family, only this time the scene was dark- the hearth cold and flameless. Malina knelt in the far corner of the chamber, their children huddled in her outstretched arms. _

_ "Be brave," she asserted though her voice faltered with the howls of pain and licks of flame outside the windows. "Your father and the Guards are very brave. They won't let the rats in here. They-" There was a shout outside the door and she clutched them tighter to her. Steel rang upon steel and then all was quiet for a brief moment before a loud bang rammed against the doors. Martin panted as he watched his family shake with fear, his daughters crying and his young sons standing up in front of the females, bravely protecting their family._

_ "No," Martin breathed reaching out to them. "No!" He had just risen to his footpaws when the head of a halberd splintered through the wood of the door and retracted only to have an arrowtip appear in its hole. The instant Martin took a step forward again, the arrow loosed, burying itself deep in the chest of his middle son._

_ "No!" he yelled, his cry echoing that of his family's. Another step he took, another arrow flew at a new target. And then another, and another. Malina leapt up to shield them as the doors burst open and rats flooded the room; circling them, their blades posed for the kill. Martin blinked, opening his eyes to the sight of crumpled bodies littering the chamber floor. Grief gripped his heart and Martin stumbled backwards away from the horror; to his astonishment, as he placed down another footpaw, the rats left the room- a stilled body stirred. With each step he took back, the further he moved away from his desired future, the more death was reversed. Finally, when he reached the center of the circle they were a happy family once more, oblivious to the previous terror. Shuffling back one more stride for good measure, Martin heard a crack of an object beneath his heel. He reached a paw down and retrieved his tiny toy ship to hold in his paws._

_ "Run, Martin." He started at the female's voice and spun round to see his mother alive again, holding his sword flat on her paws. "Leave them be. Leave them a wonderful dream. You must run."_

_ "My family," he murmured. "Mama, they're my family…"_

_ "They could be," she relented. "It's a path. One you could choose; but with every choice, comes a price."_

_ "My family will die."_

_ "You're _whole_ family will die," she breathed. "Eutrusia as we know it will die. The rats will come. You must run. Pull their eyes away from here. Their sight follows you, Martin. You must run. You must hide." _

_ "Where?" She pointed to the open door of white light. "What's out there?"_

_ "What you make of it," she whispered to him. "It's your way through the Seasons' mists- your way to hide."_

_ Martin turned towards it, shielding his eyes once more at the brightness and trying to make sense of what was happening around him. "Is it dangerous?" he asked with conviction, not fear._

_ His mother nodded as he took back his sword. "Yes." _

_Martin's world started to swirl faster around him, the air pressed in against him. The image of Valina blew away in the motion and Martin found himself floating in the weightless void encompassing him; Marcena's strong voice whispering through the steady hum of the wind._

_ "Through your sacrifice they will all be safe."_

"Your Highness," Tipper called, shaking Martin firmly on the shoulder as the prince thrashed about his canopied bed. "Your Highness!"

Martin bolted upright, breathing heavily and blinking the fogginess from his mind. Feeling a bead of sweat drip down his cheek, the prince ran a paw over his face, grimacing at slick feel and the realization of his soaked shirt clinging to his chest.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Tipper pressed, taking a step back to give Martin his space. "Were you having a dream or something?"

"Something," Martin muttered. Throwing his footpaws over the side of the bed, he stretched, groaning at his weariness and looking out the balcony at the golden sunshine playing about the soft blue entrance sheers. "What time of day is it, Tipper?"

The pawbeast started to straighten the bed sheets as the prince rose and made his way to the washstand. "Just afore midday, sire," he said, fluffing the pillows and pulling up the coverlet. "You said when you came back at dawn to only let you sleep for a couple of hours."

"No, that's fine, Tip," Martin assured him, pulling off his shirt and washing sleep and sweat from his face. Taking a towel from the side rung, he dried his fur and collected the clean shirt the servant held out for him. "Any news of the dungeon guards?"

"Healers haven't said much to me, Your Highness. They only sent a herald saying they have them finally calmed in the infirmary, but that was, erm… about a bell ago now."

Martin nodded. It was the small hours of the night when a guard came running to the Guardhouse proclaiming the prisoner's watchers had gone mad- screeching and snivelling like frightened children hovelled in the corner of the prison. By the time Martin and a fresh patrol of guards reached the foundations of the palace, healers were already administering herbs to calm their hysteric nerves. Nothing they said made sense and the only thing the repeated with almost chant-like consistency was the shadows have eyes. When they questioned Ulrick what he had done, the noble mouse said he did nothing- how could he locked in a cell? All he said were the guards drank themselves into stupidity and then vole started rambling about seeing things move in the dark. After that- they all went frantic.

"They'll have to be questioned once they are about their wits," Martin said more to himself then the pawbeast. "Dungeon guards are some of the hardest beasts around. What in the kingdom could have caused four of them to snap at the same time?"

Tipper looked at him blankly and Martin waved off any possible retort. "Never mind, Tipper- just get my clothes for the day. The Lord of Ruarden's execution is at high sun."

"Right you are, sire," he chirped and slipped into the prince's dressing room. "Would you like a navy mantle or perhaps your red…"

Martin ignored the servant's chatter. Again his mind was a jumbled mess of duties and forthcoming responsibilities as he pulled the light shirt over his head and tied the neck strings loosely to hold the fabric to his shoulders. Walking out onto the balcony to overlook the sea and the bay below him, Martin leaned his elbows on the marbled railing while his clawtips worked at fastening buttons at his wrist. A soft motion beneath him caught his eye and Martin watched a pink gossamer scarf waving lightly from Malina's balcony baluster. The fabric fluttered about the sea breeze, gesturing up to him like a very banner of hope and comfort. Painfully, he recalled bits of visions from his dream and he shuddered slightly at the images that stuck in his mind.

"It was only a dream," he whispered to himself, turning away from the balcony and striding into his chamber. "It was only a dream."

* * *

Matthias watched his son with a smirk from the railing of the landing overlooking the Royal Presence Chamber. The king had just come out of his own private chambers to hear the hum of voices and sighed at the anticipation of a small army of chancellors below wanting to bend his ear; when the king did look down from his vantage point, he was pleasantly surprised to see Martin was the one surrounded at his chamber's doorway by creatures of state demanding his attention while Matthias only had two beasts waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"The tides are starting to turn," he smiled to himself and observed how Martin listened to each creature in turn, asking questions and giving commands. His son was truly growing up and displaying promise off being able to handle the pressures of the kingship.

Descending the stairs quietly as to not draw attention to himself, the king nodded to Lord Naveen and Syr Donovan while they each performed a short bow.

"Your Majesty," they said in unison before straightening up again. Matthias glanced over to the small mob surrounding the prince. He could see the lines already starting to furrow Martin's brow as Lieutenant Evrol hastily expelled a report from the patrols. With a visible sigh of frustration, he gave the officer a curt nod and turned to hear the concerns of Lord Conroy who would no doubt be advising him on some sort of state business on top of everything else the prince was dealing with while other envoys and lords waited around the inner circle for their turn to be heard.

"Martin's getting a taste of his future this morning, is he?" the king chuckled. "It's nice to see them bothering him for a change."

"More than a taste I'd say," Donovan agreed with a jovial pop of his eyebrows and a rock up on the balls of his footpaws. "They've been at him for half a bell before you came out of your chambers."

"Good." Turning his attention to Naveen, Matthias' demeanour lowered to a more sombre tone. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes, sire," the elderly otter replied and resisted the urge to glance about the room to avoid the unpleasant conversation. Gesturing towards Martin, Naveen added, "The prince has sent his shieldbeast, Loukin, to escort Lord Ulrick up from the dungeons."

"And what of the dungeon guards?"

"They are still being watched in the infirmary, Your Majesty. The healers continue to sedate them."

"My Lord Father!" Martin called from across the chamber and fanned out the beasts encircling him with a flick of his wrist. Ten beasts bowed away from the prince as he strode forward to the king, his red cloak billowing behind him as he walked; coming to a halt before his father, Martin put his right paw over his heart and dipped his head in respect. "Shall we get this over with?" he asked once he straightened up.

"Are you finished addressing their concerns?" the king said with a dip of his head in the direction of the attendants.

"As much as I can right now," the prince assured him. "Unfortunately, I do not have the answer yet for what they wish to know."

"You haven't found the murderer yet."

"No."

Matthias' lips tightened and he began to stride out of the presence chamber, waving Martin to walk with him. Their pawbeasts and advisors followed behind the two royals like an armada of rich fabrics, insignia of state and gems gliding down a sea of marble flecked with sunlight from the leaded windows. Waiting until the footbeasts opened the doors so they could begin their descent towards the Grand Gallery, Matthias continued the conversation.

"You will find it soon," he reassured his son. "I have every confidence in your efforts."

"I am glad for your confidence," Martin responded. _For I am losing it in myself._ "Conroy tells me my Lady Mother and Princess Malina are meeting us for the execution- Is it really something they have to watch?"

"Unfortunately, yes." The king exhaled loudly. "Their place at such occasions is with their family. Ulrick's treason was against the crown and they are extensions of the crown. I will tell Malina to look away, but your mother cannot- nor will she. She has seen this before and been strong enough to bear it. Besides," he added while fidgeting with his sleeve, "it is Ulran I am more worried about."

"You think he will try and stop it?" Martin asked pointedly. "If you think he will be of any trouble I can have him locked in his chambers or post extra guards around him."

"No, Martin," Matthias said with a hint of annoyance. "You cannot lock Ulran up- he is required to be there as one of my four barons."

"So, I place a few more guards around him then."

"No- just leave him be," Matthias stated. "Ulran won't try anything by force- he may plead again for his son's life, but I expect that." The king cocked his head to the side and looked at his son in the eye. "I know I would if it was you. I'd beg for us to be switched or renounce any title I ever carried in exchange for your life. I would be a wreck and can only imagine Ulran will be the same."

"But Ulrick is a traitor-"

"He is still Ulran's son," Matthias said sharply. "It doesn't matter what you do or the wrongs you make, you are our sons and it is our job as fathers to protect you no matter what the cost. You'll understand someday when you have your own son to hold and take care of."

A half smile smirked on Martin's lips and his eyes softened slightly as he recalled his moment with Malina on the wall. Opening his mouth to shift the topic of conversation, the prince was silenced by Matthias' order.

"We'll get through this business and then I want you to focus your attention on getting this murdering beast under control," the king asserted. "The lumberer's family have already received the purse of silver I sent them for their loss, but for Ulran I will give this creature over to him so he can extract his own justice on the thing that murdered his sister and started this shame on his house. It's not much of a consolation, but given the circumstances, it's the best I can do and perhaps will bring him a little bit of peace."

"Eurians stake murderers out flat on the grounds of the floodplains and let them drown slowly in the waters," Martin reminded the king. "The flooding season is almost upon us- that doesn't me much time."

"Then you'd better hurry." Martin bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the command and the two beasts continued down the hallway in relative silence; their minds reeling with thoughts. Walking past a large tapestry depicting Eutrusia nestled amidst a sea of blue waves and the sun shining above it, the realms of the Seasons and the Fates sewn carefully in the splendour and shadow of the sun, Martin's mind flipped to a different point of conversation.

"Father, what do you know of a creature called a Ruspic?" Martin asked in a low tone while keeping his eyes focused forward and taking in the fine details that encompassed his home.

"Very little, but that is how I wish to keep it," was the king's reply. "A Ruspic is not a thing I would want archived in detail within our records."

"But there are records of them?" the prince pressed, slowing his pace slightly to give his father a sideways glance. "In the Grand Library, there is mention of them somewhere?"

"Not in the library, but in a diary of one of your ancestors-" Matthias relented and skewed his face in thought. "King Maccus, I believe. The diary is in my private study if you wish to view it later." He paused for a moment to observe the stress marring his son's features. "Why do you ask?"

Martin gazed over his shoulder and waved their entourage back further so the two could converse in relative privacy. "The Guard has been out since the alarm was raised yesterday and we can't find a trace of this murdering creature. Not a footprint, not a sniff of its life anywhere. Trackers can't find it, the terns report nothing from the coastlines; there is no lead, no trail to follow- only assumptions we have made based on the evidence we have before us. Ulran told us Ulyssa and Ulrick found some vermin seer, which spoke of things to come. He told us it was cloaked in black, wheezed when it breathed and fought him with a dirk. It's got some sort of limp when it walks, but other than that there's really nothing and if we can't find any tracks it's hard to identify the species…" The prince drew a large breath before continuing. "Some of the Guards are whispering about it being a Ruspic which from what I gather is some sort of dark vermin seer which brings with it malevolent intent. I have never been one to put a lot of store in tales and stories, but now that our dungeon guards have run mad from a spook in the shadows, I feel I must explore this option."

"Never one to put a lot of store in tales and stories?" Matthias scoffed and placed a paw on Martin's shoulder. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Martin- you're living proof there is truth in such things. You think all those tales of badger blood and Seasons' blessing are told to help you sleep better at night?"

"Well, no, but they are gifts from the Seasons-"

"And you don't think the Fates bestowed their own gifts?"

Stopping before a large window that overlooked harbour, Matthias let out a deep sigh and crossed his left paw over his body to cup his right elbow, tapping the fingers of his right paw against his lips. The bay looked so peaceful below them; the sun reflected off the water like countless diamonds and the massive ships buoyed at their slips and anchors, their golden sails tied up while the Eutrusian flags fluttered in the sea breeze on their masts. It was hard to imagine so much conflict could live amongst such serenity.

"What else do you know about the culprit?"

"All I know, I have told you," Martin affirmed. "Do you remember what the diary said about them- any specifics?"

"From what I can recall, it wasn't much- a simple passage written almost in passing when the first successful voyage to the mainland returned back to Eutrusia. Their good news was that plague had died out and creatures were flourishing again, but if I remember correctly, it was written the shadows moved by more than the direction of the sun. Or something like that; it has been a while since I read the journal."

"And the shadows were... dangerous?" Martin questioned.

"The sailors did not feel the mainland was safe and so all thoughts of trade with it were abandoned. It was under Maccus we focused on building our naval defenses and appointed the first Fleet Admiral of Eutrusia- to keep our island, our home, safe."

"Our ancestors were superstitious," Martin scoffed. "Their beliefs were an exaggerated system."

"And what are beliefs if not to explain the unexplainable?" Matthias said. "Beliefs are explanations for things in need of an answer when there is not a logical one to be had. Call it luck, miracles, blessings or religion- whatever you wish it to be, but it still a mystery that demands that we just _believe_ it to be true because there is no other way around it."

"But there is no proof these Ruspics even still live," Martin argued lightly. "There has never been one reported in Eutrusia and the only things we know about them are from lore, one passage in a diary of a half-drunken king and the ramblings of old wives' tales!"

"Then why did you bring it up?" Matthias did not wait for his son to answer and turned on his heel to continue their previous route to the Gallery; the prince stood in thought for brief moment, contemplating the king's words before tailing off after his father.

"I asked you because I can't find a logical explanation as to why I can't find this murderer," Martin exasperated. "I'm exploring all my options."

"Why?"

Martin swore under his breath. He hated when his father did this. He hated when he acted the tutor. The prince knew his father was simply training him to think things all the way through, using his mind to reason and shelfing his heart, but at this time, under his pressure and frustration, Martin just wanted a simple answer, not a lesson.

"Because it's a bloody mystery is why!"

Pausing at the doors to the Grand Gallery, Matthias held up his paw to halt the footbeasts and herald from announcing their entrance; turning to his son, the king looked the young mouse in the eyes.

"Perhaps, it's time you started believing, Martin. Given the evidence you have before you, I'd say the shadows have found their way here."

* * *

The Grand Gallery was filled with nobles and high standing beasts of the realm; Royal Guards in full regalia stood at attention on the flanks of every door and down the quarter lines of the hall, creating a traitor's trail for Ulrick to approach the dais for his last words before being stripped of his life and led to the scaffold. The dim roar of the common creatures could be heard outside of the doors as if they were a swarm of bees hungry for the sweet taste of honey; only they were not bees, but baseborn beasts and it was not honey they were after, but a traitor's last breath.

On the dais, the royal family sat on their thrones; Matthias centered their party wearing his official jewels of state and royal sceptre for the ceremony. To his left, Valina sat ridge-backed and Malina wrung a kerchief in her paws to relieve some of her obvious stress. On the king's right, Martin sat with particular candour, staring straight ahead to observe the mob hanging on the anticipation ebbing the air around them. After Martin, Baroness Dalila took her official seat as part of the royal family and though she was facing forward like the rest of them, her eyes were strained across the dais where Ulran stood with the other three barons of Eutrusia , flanking down the steps beside the queen and princess. The Baron of Eurus was visibly distressed- heavy furrows creased his brow, his strong shoulders were slumped against the weight of his baronial collar and his chest heaved with the large breaths he took to calm his raging nerves. Every few exhales, one of the barons would lean back and mumble a reassuring word to him and Baron Trysten even reached back to place a paw on Ulran's shoulder in support.

At the king's right, the Lieutenants of the Royal Guard formed a similar configuration on their side of the dais; Malax, Condor, Evrol, Olan and Klein stood at attention in their uniforms and breastplates- their white cloaks pressed and draped about their bodies while they held a long spear in each of their right paws, their lefts resting on their sword hilts. Tension creased the air, pressing and stretching it over the audience of the Gallery, their ears ringing with the buzz from emulating from the walls until Matthias gave a nod and in a clunk of iron and wood the ringing shattered, sucking through the opening doors and whipping out amongst the rabble. Out of the darkness, Ulrick walked- two guards before him, two guards behind.

_One quick speech and then he hangs,_ Martin thought to himself. _It's over and then we move on…_

"Ulrick Neefray," Matthias trumpeted, rising to his footpaws and stepping forward to the edge of the dais as the mouse drew near. "Lord of Ruarden Manor and son of Baron Ulran Neefray of Eurus, you are brought forward on account of treason to the Eutrusian crown through disregard of royal commands, murder and plotting against the life of the Etifedd." The guards halted him five paces from the dais and forced the proud noble onto his knees before the sovereign. "You have been guilty in a court of your peers and have chosen to be hung at the neck until dead as your mode of execution." A murmur rippled through the crowd and Ulran wavered slightly on his footpaws; Dalila shifted to the edge of her seat. "Do you have any final words?"

"No." Only the sound of silver ricocheting angrily off the marble flagstones broke the hushed silence as Ulran whipped off his baronial collar and threw it down on the floor.

"You daft beast!" Ulran cried and stepped out of line, stripping himself of all his effects of state as he walked towards his son. "If you are not going to beg for your life- I will!"

Kneeling down to the gasps of creatures throughout the Gallery, Ulran bent his head and spoke in a loud voice. "Your Majesties, Your Highnesses," he began. "I kneel before you to beg for my son's life." Looking up at Matthias, his eyes pleaded to his friend. "I come before you not as a noble, a baron or even as a friend- I come before you as a father. From one father to another, please, Your Majesty, please allow my son to live."

It took all of Matthias' strength to hold his conviction. "My lord baron- your son is an accused traitor. The plenty for treason is death."

"If it is death you need, take my life instead," Ulran said, bowing his head again. "I have lived my life…"

"Father, no," Ulrick muttered and stepped forward only to be blocked by Loukin's spear haft. "You don't have to do this."

"I do!" his father rallied at him. "I swore to protect you, to always keep you safe. I held you over your mother's grave and promised her I would guard our son for her. I have never broken a vow in my life and the Fates strike me down if I fall short on this."

Ulrick rolled his eyes. "You're as much as a fool as the rest of them."

"Ya ungrateful git," Loukin cursed under his breath and whipped the shaft of his spear upwards to catch Ulrick on the chin. The mouse reared back, groaning slightly and wiped his shackled paws over his bloodied lip. "That's yar father beggin' for yar life there!"

"Hold!" Martin commanded and stood from his throne and walked to join his father. "Fall back to formation, Loukin."

"Yes, Highness," the otter said, bowing his head and stepping back to his place once more as apprehension flecked amongst the onlookers. Heads turned, whispers were spoken and silent pleas of mercy threatened to erupt at the show of Ulran's sacrifice. Quickly sensing the rising emotions of the hall, Matthias pressed against Ulrick's unremorseful behaviour to counter the baron's display of affection.

"Ulrick, you amaze me," the king scoffed. "Your father is pleading for your life- offering his life in exchange for yours- and you have the audacity to call him a fool. Have you no respect?"

"Respect I have," Ulrick replied. "It is you who should have more respect to me."

"Scum," Martin growled and descended a step. "You dare insult the King of Eutrusia in his own hall?"

The Royal Guard snapped to attention at the prince's movement; gripping their shields and unsheathing their blades in a harmonious ring of steel. A few cries went up from the noble ladies and Syr Donovan stepped forward into the periphery of the dais, a paw on his hilt as his eyes jetted back and forth between Ulrick to Martin to Valina and back to Ulrick again. There was something about the confidence Ulrick held that the old arms master did not like; it was too assured for a beast up against the wall- that is unless he had a way out. With measured steps Donovan padded closer to a defensive position, his footpaws barely making a sound upon the flagstones; all the while his eyes alert to the anything that moved. Tipping his ear back at the odd sound of a raspy breath, the squirrel looked over his shoulder at the pillar casting shadows into the room in a sort of door-like fashion. Before he could think more on the oddity, Ulrick's voice brought Donovan's attention before him once more.

"I am not insulting the king," Ulrick argued. "I am suggesting he stop fighting destiny and accept what will be."

"And what is that," Martin pressed, pulling his jewelled sword from his scabbard as he descended the steps. "Me killing you where you stand?"

The haughty lord shrugged with disinterest. "You can try, but you won't succeed."

"Watch me."

"Martin!" Matthias yelled as Olan and Klein blocked the prince's path. "Do not give him what he wants."

"Easy, Your Highness," Klein whispered as he and Olan stood a step down from the furious prince. "He's trying to get your blood up for some reason. Just stay calm." At the lieutenant's words, Martin conceded his advance and tried to steady himself against his rising anger by clenching his teeth until his jaw muscles twitched from strain.

"Ulrick, enough," Ulran spat and rose up from his reverence to come face to face with his son. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it is what the Fates have decided. The only path they will leave the Seasons to weave."

"Where is it, Ulrick," Ulran questioned, his eyes narrowing in distrust. "Where is the creature?"

"You should all have looked more closely upon entering the Gallery," Ulrick proclaimed and nodded to the windows beckoning the light of the day through its coloured and clear panes. "Light does not show everything, for light cannot touch a shadow."

Martin felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end and his hackles begin to rise, fluffing out the high collar of his crimson tunic. Glancing about the hall for an intruder, Martin's blood pumped furiously in his veins as his grip tightened on his sword handle. Something didn't feel right. Something was wrong.

Then it moved. In the south west corner of the Gallery, a cloaked figure pulled away from the shadow of a pillar as oil separating from water. The figure stood motionless, its body and features hidden from sight by its blackened shroud and a long hood pulled up high on the beast's head, as if it were still itself a shadow and not wholly real. The air suddenly felt cold and stale, and a sense of foreboding chilled Martin's paws despite his furiously rushing blood. With the jilting movements of a broken marionette the beast inched forward in a lame gait, causing the bystanders within its proximity to scurry away in uncertainty and fear.

Martin swept his head backwards to look at the king. "Father," he said shortly. "What is that?"

"Get it out of my hall!" Matthias bellowed, his widening eyes betraying the brave tone of his voice. "I will not have a Ruspic in my kingdom!"

* * *

**Creepy? Alright, I know, I'm not good at writing horror; I'm better at sappy emotion, but I had to try. :P**

**Anyways, still working on finding a happy description/dialogue ratio, but I think this chapter is getting there. I did go a little overboard last chapter, but that was because I was focussing so much on it. **

**Anyways, please REVIEW! **


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